Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes, <br /> And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands. <br />The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies. <br /> I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands, <br /> <br />Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea's making <br /> Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned. <br />There you'll be laid, past fear of sleep or hope of waking; <br /> And over the unmoving sea, without a sound, <br /> <br />Faint hands will row you outward, out beyond our sight, <br /> Us with stretched arms and empty eyes on the far-gleaming <br />And marble sand. . . . <br /> Beyond the shifting cold twilight, <br /> Further than laughter goes, or tears, further than dreaming, <br />There'll be no port, no dawn-lit islands! But the drear <br /> Waste darkening, and, at length, flame ultimate on the deep. <br />Oh, the last fire -- and you, unkissed, unfriended there! <br /> Oh, the lone way's red ending, and we not there to weep! <br /> <br />(We found you pale and quiet, and strangely crowned with flowers, <br /> Lovely and secret as a child. You came with us, <br />Came happily, hand in hand with the young dancing hours, <br /> High on the downs at dawn!) Void now and tenebrous, <br /> <br />The grey sands curve before me. . . . <br /> From the inland meadows, <br /> Fragrant of June and clover, floats the dark, and fills <br />The hollow sea's dead face with little creeping shadows, <br /> And the white silence brims the hollow of the hills. <br /> <br />Close in the nest is folded every weary wing, <br /> Hushed all the joyful voices; and we, who held you dear, <br />Eastward we turn and homeward, alone, remembering . . . <br /> Day that I loved, day that I loved, the Night is here!<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/day-that-i-have-loved/
