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

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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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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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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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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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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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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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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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All the little emptiness of love!
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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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