Quote

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.

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
World
Joy
Laid
Call
Immortality
Age
Red
Away
Son
Work
Wine
Years
Gave
Poured
Would
Youth
Serene
Men
Sweet
Sons

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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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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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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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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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There's little comfort in the wise
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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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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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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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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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 worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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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 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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