Main Street, and Other Poems

<h2> In Memory of Rupert Brooke </h2> <p>In alien earth, across a troubled sea,<br/> His body lies that was so fair and young.<br/> His mouth is stopped, with half his songs unsung;<br/> His arm is still, that struck to make men free.<br/> But let no cloud of lamentation be<br/> Where, on a warrior's grave, a lyre is hung.<br/> We keep the echoes of his golden tongue,<br/> We keep the vision of his chivalry.<br/> <br/> So Israel's joy, the loveliest of kings,<br/> Smote now his harp, and now the hostile horde.<br/> To-day the starry roof of Heaven rings<br/> With psalms a soldier made to praise his Lord;<br/> And David rests beneath Eternal wings,<br/> Song on his lips, and in his hand a sword.<br/></p> <p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"></SPAN></p> <br/> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />