My restless blood now lies a-quiver, <br /> Knowing that always, exquisitely, <br />This April twilight on the river <br /> Stirs anguish in the heart of me. <br /> <br />For the fast world in that rare glimmer <br /> Puts on the witchery of a dream, <br />The straight grey buildings, richly dimmer, <br /> The fiery windows, and the stream <br /> <br />With willows leaning quietly over, <br /> The still ecstatic fading skies . . . <br />And all these, like a waiting lover, <br /> Murmur and gleam, lift lustrous eyes, <br /> <br />Drift close to me, and sideways bending <br /> Whisper delicious words. <br /> But I <br />Stretch terrible hands, uncomprehending, <br /> Shaken with love; and laugh; and cry. <br /> <br />My agony made the willows quiver; <br /> I heard the knocking of my heart <br />Die loudly down the windless river, <br /> I heard the pale skies fall apart, <br /> <br />And the shrill stars' unmeaning laughter, <br /> And my voice with the vocal trees <br />Weeping. And Hatred followed after, <br /> Shrilling madly down the breeze. <br /> <br />In peace from the wild heart of clamour, <br /> A flower in moonlight, she was there, <br />Was rippling down white ways of glamour <br /> Quietly laid on wave and air. <br /> <br />Her passing left no leaf a-quiver. <br /> Pale flowers wreathed her white, white brows. <br />Her feet were silence on the river; <br /> And 'Hush!' she said, between the boughs.<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blue-evening/
