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

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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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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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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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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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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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All the little emptiness of love!
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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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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