Page:Collected poems of Rupert Brooke.djvu/70

 The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;

And in the boughs wind never swirled.

I found a flowering lowly bush,

And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,

Hidden at rest from all the world.

Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!

Yet—with cold heart and cold wet brows

I lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grew

Meward a sound of shaken boughs;

And ceased, above my intricate house;

And silence, silence, silence found me. . ..

I felt the unfaltering movement creep

Among the leaves. They shed around me

Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;

And stroked my face. I fell asleep.