Or the soft moan of any grey-eyed lute player."

But these things are arcana.


IV

There is a grave in Scyros, amid the white and pinkish marble of the isle,
the wild thyme and the poppies, near the green and blue waters.
There Rupert Brooke was buried. Thither have gone the thoughts
of his countrymen, and the hearts of the young especially.
It will long be so. For a new star shines in the English heavens.
G. E. W.
Beverly, Mass., October, 1915.






Contents



1905-1908

Second Best
Day That I Have Loved
Sleeping Out: Full Moon
In Examination