Quote

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.

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
Dark
Delight
Night
Sky
Stills
Street
Remember
Green
Moonless
Still
Quiet
Darkened
Life
Streets
Chamber
Thoughts
Leaves
Arms
Clouds

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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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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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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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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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