In darkness the loud sea makes moan; <br />And earth is shaken, and all evils creep <br />About her ways. <br />Oh, now to know you sleep! <br />Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone, <br />Out of the slow grim fight, <br />One thought to wing -- to you, asleep, <br />In some cool room that's open to the night <br />Lying half-forward, breathing quietly, <br />One white hand on the white <br />Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair <br />Quiet and still at length! . . . <br /> <br />Your magic and your beauty and your strength, <br />Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree, <br />Sleeping prevail in earth and air. <br /> <br />In the sweet gloom above the brown and white <br />Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night <br />Move gently round the room, and watch you there. <br />And through the dreadful hours <br />The trees and waters and the hills have kept <br />The sacred vigil while you slept, <br />And lay a way of dew and flowers <br />Where your feet, your morning feet, shall tread. <br /> <br />And still the darkness ebbs about your bed. <br />Quiet, and strange, and loving-kind, you sleep. <br />And holy joy about the earth is shed; <br />And holiness upon the deep.<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-charm/
