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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

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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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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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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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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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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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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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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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All the little emptiness of love!
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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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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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