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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
Friend
Proud
Clear
Death
Greet
Eyed
Laughing

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There's little comfort in the wise
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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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All the little emptiness of love!
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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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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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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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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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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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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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I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, Desire illimitable, and silent content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the dark of life.
Rupert Brooke
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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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