I found out what it was AND I found a book of Rupert Brooke's poetry "1914 and Other Poems".
I also found the Rupert Brooke's Society page and an article about his life in The New Yorker online and the poem "The Treasure" written in August of 1914.
The TreasureWhen colour goes home into the eyes,
And lights that shine are shut again,
With dancing girls and sweet birds' cries
Behind the gateways of the brain;
And that no-place which gave them birth, shall close
The rainbow and the rose: -
Still may Time hold some golden space
Where I'll unpack that scented store
Of song and flower and sky and face,
And count, and touch, and turn them o'er,
Musing upon them; as a mother, who
Has watched her children all the rich day through,
Sits, quiet-handed, in the fading light,
When children sleep, ere night.
I selected the highlighted line to write my Golden Shovel Poem. It came out in one sitting with no edits. It must have been the right line.
Treasure in Night
from Rupert Brooke's "The Treasure"
She, in solitude, sits,
The night speaks in quiet
Voice and she is handed,
The keys to a thousand dreams in
Place of the
Touch of his hand, memory fading
As the sun makes real in the light.
by Donna JT Smith, May 29, 2017