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

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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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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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, Desire illimitable, and silent content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the dark of life.
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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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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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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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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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All the little emptiness of love!
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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