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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.

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
Quietude
Busy
Need
Needs
Heart

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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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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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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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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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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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There's little comfort in the wise
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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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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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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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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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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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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
Rupert Brooke