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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.

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
Going
Dies
Safest
Men
Though
Endeavour
Poor
Secretly
War
Limbs
Fall
Armed
Lost
Safety
Death
Safe
Power
Shall

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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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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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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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The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble and the rough male kiss of blankets.
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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 only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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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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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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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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.
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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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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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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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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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All the little emptiness of love!
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