Poems by Rupert Brooke

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The damned ship lurched and slithered. Quiet and quick
Sir, since the last Elizabethan died,
Somewhile before the dawn I rose, and stept
When love has changed to kindliness,
Before thy shrine I kneel, an unknown worshipper,
When Beauty and Beauty meet
My restless blood now lies a-quiver,
Ah! not now, when desire burns, and the wind calls, and the suns of spring
Here the flame that was ash, shrine that was void, lost in the haunted wood,
Down the blue night the unending columns press
(From the train between Bologna and Milan, second class.)
Through my heart's palace Thoughts unnumbered throng;
Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes,
There was a damned successful Poet;
So light we were, so right we were, so fair faith shone,
When you were there, and you, and you,
When she sleeps, her soul, I know,
When the white flame in us is gone,
Stars that seem so close and bright,
Because God put His adamantine fate
From the candles and dumb shadows,
Voices out of the shade that cried,
I strayed about the deck, an hour, to-night
There is an evil which that Race attaints
In the grey tumult of these after years
I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
I came back late and tired last night
Lo! from quiet skies
I have known the most dear that is granted us here,
When I see you, who were so wise and cool,
When love has changed to kindliness,
How should I know? The enormous wheels of will
Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate,
Young Mary, loitering once her garden way,
As those of old drank mummia
They say there's a high windless world and strange,
Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
Oh! Death will find me, long before I tire
(The Priests within the Temple)
Today I have been happy. All the day
For moveless limbs no pity I crave,
Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
I'd watched the sorrow of the evening sky,
In your arms was still delight,
Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest
Swiftly out from the friendly lilt of the band,
Here in the dark, O heart;
They sleep within. . . .
Sometimes even now I may
"Oh! Love," they said, "is King of Kings,
All suddenly the wind comes soft,
The way of love was thus.
Not with vain tears, when we're beyond the sun,
Hand trembling towards hand; the amazing lights
I said I splendidly loved you; it's not true.
Oh! Death will find me, long before I tire
The Thing must End. I am no boy! I am
I think if you had loved me when I wanted;
Some day I shall rise and leave my friends
Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted,
Out of the nothingness of sleep,
In darkness the loud sea makes moan;
Your hands, my dear, adorable,
As the Wind, and as the Wind,
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
In a cool curving world he lies
The day that YOUTH had died,
In a flowered dell the Lady Venus stood,
I have been so great a lover: filled my days
Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,
The stars, a jolly company,
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
All in the town were still asleep,
Hands and lit faces eddy to a line;
Just now the lilac is in bloom,
I dreamt I was in love again
If I should die, think only this of me:
(Sung, on one night, in the cities, in the darkness.)
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)
When colour goes home into the eyes,
They say when the Great Prompter's hand shall ring
Slowly up silent peaks, the white edge of the world,
Safe in the magic of my woods
The way that lovers use is this;
Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
"Oh love is fair, and love is rare;" my dear one she said,
How can we find? how can we rest? how can
Mamua, when our laughter ends,
Here, where love's stuff is body, arm and side
Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap
All night the ways of Heaven were desolate,
Creeps in half wanton, half asleep,
Warm perfumes like a breath from vine and tree