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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

Rupert Brooke

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Rupert Brooke
Age: 28 †
Born: 1887
Born: January 1
Died: 1915
Died: January 1
Poet
Rugby
Warwickshire
Rupert Chawner Brooke
Rupert Chaucer Brooke
Lips
Relationship
Makes
Wipes
Young
Valentine
Heart
Wipe
Years
Kiss
Love
Romance
Kissing

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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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It's all a terrible tragedy. And yet, in it's details, it's great fun. And - apart from the tragedy - I've never felt happier or better in my life than in those days in Belgium.
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
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Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.
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War knows no power. Safe shall be my going, Secretly armed against all death's endeavour Safe though all safety's lost safe where men fall And if these poor limbs die, safest of all.
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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
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There's little comfort in the wise
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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I shall desire and I shall find The best of my desires The autumn road, the mellow wind That soothes the darkening shires. And laughter, and inn-fires.
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Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, Desire illimitable, and silent content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the dark of life.
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In your arms was still delight, Quiet as a street at night And thoughts of you, I do remember, Were green leaves in a darkened chamber, Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
Rupert Brooke
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Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear, Each secret fishy hope or fear. Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond? This life cannot be All, they swear, For how unpleasant, if it were! One may not doubt that, somehow, Good Shall come of Water and of Mud And, sure, the reverent eye must see A Purpose in Liquidity.
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