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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.

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
Sells
Fate
Broken
Citadel
Wall
Citadels
Proud
Breach
Heart
Gate
Love
Walls
Gates

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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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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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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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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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!
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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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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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Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress and love has changed to kindliness.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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