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

More quotes by Rupert Brooke

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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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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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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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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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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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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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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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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