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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

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
Nature
Hill
Laughed
Hills
Grass
Lovely
Flung
Laughter
Windy
Summer
Breathless
Sun
Kissed

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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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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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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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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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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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All the little emptiness of love!
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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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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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Oh! death will find me, long before I tire Of watching for you and swing me suddenly Into the shade and loneliness and mire Of the last land!
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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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And I shall find some girl perhaps, and a better one than you, With eyes as wise, but kindlier, and lips as soft, but true, and I dare say she will do.
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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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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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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.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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