I happened to go into a second hand bookshop wile I was in the city yesterday to kill some time. I stopped at the poetry section and a vook caught my eye:

"The Complete Works of Rupert Brooke with a biography"

It was an old book, and inside the cover was hand written "1921". For those of you who dont know Rupert Brooke was a patriotic, romantic, idealistic poet, who died during the Great War.

The book was beautiful, and I was flicking through it and this poem caught my eye, and I read it a few times over. Its beautiful:

Doubts

When she sleeps, her soul, I know,
Goes a wanderer on the air,
Wings where I may never go,
Leaves her lying, still and fair,
Waiting, empty, laid aside,
Like a dress upon a chair....
This I know, and yet I know
Doubts that will not be denied.

For if the soul be not in place,
What has laid trouble in her face?
And, sits there nothing ware and wise
Behind the curtains of her eyes,
What is it, in the self's eclipse,
Shadows, soft and passingly,
About the corners of her lips,
The smile that is essential she?

And if the spirit be not there,
Why is fragrance in the hair?

Rupert Brooke, 1913