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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!

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
Near
Somewhere
Beyond
Wetter
Space
Eddies
Water
Slime
Death
Appointed
Ends
Mud
Time
Unto

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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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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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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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All the little emptiness of love!
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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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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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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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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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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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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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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Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.
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