Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap <br /> That's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind; <br /> Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind. <br />Between the small hands folded in her lap <br />Surely a shamed head may bow down at length, <br /> And find forgiveness where the shadows stir <br />About her lips, and wisdom in her strength, <br /> Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!" . . . <br /> <br />She will not care. She'll smile to see me come, <br /> So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me. <br /> She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me, <br /> And open wide upon that holy air <br />The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home, <br /> Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unfortunate/
