Quote

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

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There's little comfort in the wise
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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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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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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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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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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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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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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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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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