Sonnet

Photo by Danil Shostak on Unsplash

(Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research)

Not with vain tears, when we’re beyond the sun, 

We’ll beat on the substantial doors, nor tread 

Those dusty high-roads of the aimless dead 

Plaintive for Earth; but rather turn and run 

Down some close-covered by-way of the air, 

Some low sweet alley between wind and wind, 

Stoop under faint gleams, thread the shadows, find 

Some whispering ghost-forgotten nook, and there 

Spend in pure converse our eternal day; 

Think each in each, immediately wise;

Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say 

What this tumultuous body now denies; 

And feel, who have laid our groping hands away; 

And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.

~ Rupert Brooke