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

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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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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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Youth is stranger than fiction.
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All the little emptiness of love!
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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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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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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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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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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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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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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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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Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.
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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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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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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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The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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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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