The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke

The Treasure

   When colour goes home into the eyes,
    And lights that shine are shut again
   With dancing girls and sweet birds' cries
    Behind the gateways of the brain;
   And that no-place which gave them birth, shall close
   The rainbow and the rose: —

   Still may Time hold some golden space
    Where I'll unpack that scented store
   Of song and flower and sky and face,
    And count, and touch, and turn them o'er,
   Musing upon them; as a mother, who
   Has watched her children all the rich day through
   Sits, quiet-handed, in the fading light,
   When children sleep, ere night.