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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!

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
Laughing
Friend
Proud
Clear
Death
Greet
Eyed

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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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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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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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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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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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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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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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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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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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