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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.

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
Find
Desires
Laughter
Shire
Road
Soothes
Wind
Darkening
Shall
Inns
Fire
Mellow
Desire
Fires
Best
Autumn

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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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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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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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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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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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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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 only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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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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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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There's little comfort in the wise
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