I came back late and tired last night
Into my little room,
To the long chair and the firelight
And comfortable gloom.
But as I entered softly in
I saw a woman there,
The line of neck and cheek and chin,
The darkness of her hair,
The form of one I did not know
Sitting in my chair.
I stood a moment fierce and still,
Watching her neck and hair.
I made a step to her; and saw
That there was no one there.
It was some trick of the firelight
That made me see her there.
It was a chance of shade and light
And the cushion in the chair.
Oh, all you happy over the earth,
That night, how could I sleep?
I lay and watched the lonely gloom;
And watched the moonlight creep
From wall to basin, round the room,
All night I could not sleep.
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Comments
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Rupert Brooke never did make it Home unfortunately, like so many other men who served in WW1 - he died too young. I see it as a dream he was experiencing, dreaming of his Mother perhaps, we'll never know.
Heartfelt poem none-the-less. -
A truly haunting and most unique poem! Brilliant! Such a disaster he died, as many poets did, in the Great War...
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Another fantastic poem by Rupert Brooke.
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