'They say there's a high windless world and strange, <br />Out of the wash of days and temporal tide, <br />Where Faith and Good, Wisdom and Truth abide, <br />Aeterna corpora, subject to no change.' <br /> <br />Rupert Brooke. <br /> <br /> <br />THEY say : and yet to me the human gleam <br />Of chequered life, and many-coloured love. <br />Are nobler than the eternal things above. <br />Whereof sad weary mortals fondly dream. <br />The white eternity that must remain <br />Calm 'mid creation's rack, unchanged in change. <br />Less sweet, less bitter is, less nobly strange. <br />Than hectic joy, and love, and hate, and pain. <br />And he who fixed this wild and varied flush <br />Of infinite colour in human life, lest cold <br />Blank death should seize us, all shall re-unite, <br />We know not when nor how (as some great hush <br />May mingle many sounds), in one vast white, <br />Where yet each hue is shining as of old.<br /><br />Alec de Candole<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-sonnet-of-rupert-brooke/
