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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish

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
Shall
Land
Heaven
Wish
Fish
Fishes

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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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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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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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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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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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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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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
Rupert Brooke
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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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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
Rupert Brooke