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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
Soon
Smooth
Trouble
Rough
Sleep
Kiss
Away
Male
Males
Kindliness
Kissing
Blankets
Bed
Blanket
Cool
Sheets

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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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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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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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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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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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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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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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There's little comfort in the wise
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