Quote

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.

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
Find
Perhaps
Heart
Wise
Love
Shall
Breakup
Eyes
Sentimental
Eye
Soft
Girl
Dare
True
Lips
Better
Broken

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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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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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All the little emptiness of love!
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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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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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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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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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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.
Rupert Brooke