Rupert Brooke
Slain by the arrows of Apollo, lo,
The well-belovèd of the Muses lies
On Lemnos’ Isle 'neath blue and classic skies,
And hears th’ Ægean waters ebb and flow!
How strange his beauteous soul should choose to go
Out from its body in this hallowed place,
Where Poesy and Art’s undying grace
Still breathe, and pipes of Pan still murmur low!
Here shall he rest untroubled, knowing well
That faithful hearts shall hold his memory dear,
Moved to affection weak words cannot tell
By his short, splendid life that knew no fear;
Belovèd of the gods, the gods have ta’en
Their Ganymede, by bright Apollo slain!
