We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove <br />One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme <br />Where leaves were green, and whispered high above — <br />A grave as humble as it was sublime; <br />There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light — <br />The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair; <br />Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night, <br />A soul that found at last its answered Prayer... <br />There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees. <br />And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave — <br />Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze <br />Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gave <br />New sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept — <br />A short time dearly loved; and after, — slept.<br /><br />John Gillespie Magee<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-to-rupert-brooke/
