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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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Rupert Brooke
Age: 28 †
Born: 1887
Born: January 1
Died: 1915
Died: January 1
Poet
Rugby
Warwickshire
Rupert Chawner Brooke
Rupert Chaucer Brooke
Males
Kindliness
Kissing
Blankets
Bed
Blanket
Cool
Sheets
Soon
Smooth
Trouble
Rough
Sleep
Kiss
Away
Male

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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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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 have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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There's little comfort in the wise
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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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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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All the little emptiness of love!
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But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.
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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.
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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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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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