Quote

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.

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
Hands
Hand
Leaping
Power
Sleep
Swimmer
Made
Sure
Matched
World
Clear
Sleeping
Cleanness
Hours
Hour
Swimmers
Turns
Caught
Wakened
Eye
Youth
Sharpened
War
Turn
Thanked

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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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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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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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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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.
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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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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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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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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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
Rupert Brooke
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
Rupert Brooke
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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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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.
Rupert Brooke