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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
Agony
Ending
Friend
Worst
Enemy
Death

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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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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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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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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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There's little comfort in the wise
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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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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.
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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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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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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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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