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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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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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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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There's little comfort in the wise
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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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 only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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