Saturday, November 22, 2008

The Treasure
by Rupert Brooke

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.

4 comments:

Cécile said...

Your blog gets more and more poetic, it's just... well it's great! Sometimes a beautiful verse says as much as a thoughtful quote on Art ;)

thinker said...

Thanks Cécile. I try to make my posts thought and emotion-provoking by combining quotes and verses.

Robyn said...

Beautiful poem. Golden space to reflect ...indeed a treasure.

thinker said...

Glad you like it Robyn.