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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
Love
Romance
Kissing
Lips
Relationship
Makes
Wipes
Young
Valentine
Heart
Wipe
Years
Kiss

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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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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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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.
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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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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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There are only three things in the world, one is to read poetry, another is to write poetry, and the best of all is to live poetry.
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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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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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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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If I should die, think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.
Rupert Brooke
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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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These laid the world away poured out the red Sweet wine of youth gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
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There's little comfort in the wise
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