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All the little emptiness of love!

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
Emptiness
Littles
Little
Heart
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 kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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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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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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.
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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