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A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.

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
May
Neighbor
Book
Library
Long
Early
Good
Reading
Lasts
Last
Funny
Neighbour
Cannot
Compared

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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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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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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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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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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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If I should die, think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.
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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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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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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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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Mud unto mud!--Death eddies near-- Not here the appointed End, not here! But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, Is wetter water, slimier slime!
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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 need to busy my heart with quietude.
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