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

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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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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
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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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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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There's little comfort in the wise
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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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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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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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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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