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Rupert Brooke - Blue Evening
Work rating: Low

My restless blood now lies a-quiver,
 Knowing that always, exquisitely,
This April twilight on the river
 Stirs anguish in the heart of me.

For the fast world in that rare glimmer
 Puts on the witchery of a dream,
The straight grey buildings, richly dimmer,
 The fiery windows, and the stream

With willows leaning quietly over,
 The still ecstatic fading skies . . .
And all these, like a waiting lover,
 Murmur and gleam, lift lustrous eyes,

Drift close to me, and sideways bending
 Whisper delicious words.
                           But I
Stretch terrible hands, uncomprehending,
 Shaken with love; and laugh; and cry.

My agony made the willows quiver;
 I heard the knocking of my heart
Die loudly down the windless river,
 I heard the pale skies fall apart,

And the shrill stars` unmeaning laughter,
 And my voice with the vocal trees
Weeping.  And Hatred followed after,
 Shrilling madly down the breeze.

In peace from the wild heart of clamour,
 A flower in moonlight, she was there,
Was rippling down white ways of glamour
 Quietly laid on wave and air.

Her passing left no leaf a-quiver.
 Pale flowers wreathed her white, white brows.
Her feet were silence on the river;
 And "Hush!" she said, between the boughs.
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