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

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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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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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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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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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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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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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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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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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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There's little comfort in the wise
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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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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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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.
Rupert Brooke
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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!
Rupert Brooke