The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke

The Charm

   In darkness the loud sea makes moan;
   And earth is shaken, and all evils creep
   About her ways.
                    Oh, now to know you sleep!
   Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone,
   Out of the slow grim fight,
   One thought to wing — to you, asleep,
   In some cool room that's open to the night
   Lying half-forward, breathing quietly,
   One white hand on the white
   Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair
   Quiet and still at length! . . .

   Your magic and your beauty and your strength,
   Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,
   Sleeping prevail in earth and air.

   In the sweet gloom above the brown and white
   Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night
   Move gently round the room, and watch you there.
   And through the dreadful hours
   The trees and waters and the hills have kept
   The sacred vigil while you slept,
   And lay a way of dew and flowers
   Where your feet, your morning feet, shall tread.
   And still the darkness ebbs about your bed.
   Quiet, and strange, and loving-kind, you sleep.
   And holy joy about the earth is shed;
   And holiness upon the deep.