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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
Greet
Eyed
Laughing
Friend
Proud
Clear
Death

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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It's all a terrible tragedy. And yet, in it's details, it's great fun. And - apart from the tragedy - I've never felt happier or better in my life than in those days in Belgium.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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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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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There's little comfort in the wise
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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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.
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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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All the little emptiness of love!
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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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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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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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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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.
Rupert Brooke