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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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All the little emptiness of love!
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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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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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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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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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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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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 need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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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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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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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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