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Rupert Brooke - The Treasure
Work rating: Low

When colour goes home into the eyes,
 And lights that shine are shut again
With dancing girls and sweet birds` cries
 Behind the gateways of the brain;
And that no-place which gave them birth, shall close
The rainbow and the rose: —

Still may Time hold some golden space
 Where I`ll unpack that scented store
Of song and flower and sky and face,
 And count, and touch, and turn them o`er,
Musing upon them; as a mother, who
Has watched her children all the rich day through
Sits, quiet-handed, in the fading light,
When children sleep, ere night.
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