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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.

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
Death
Agony
Ending
Friend
Worst
Enemy

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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.
Rupert Brooke
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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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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
Rupert Brooke