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

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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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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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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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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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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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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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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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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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There's little comfort in the wise
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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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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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