Rupert Brooke Quotes - Page 2

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

Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?

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.

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.

A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long; if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.

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.

But only agony, and that has ending; And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!

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.

But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth one who swam ere rivers were begun, immense of fishy form and mind, squamous omnipotent, and kind.

.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!

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.

The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.

And in my flower-beds, I think, Smile the carnation and the pink.

Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; But is there anything Beyond?

Just now the lilac is in bloom All before my little room.

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.

Yet, behind the night, Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar, Some white tremendous daybreak.

Mud unto mud!--Death eddies near-- Not here the appointed End, not here! But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, Is wetter water, slimier slime!

Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress; and love has changed to kindliness.

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!

For Cambridge people rarely smile, Being urban, squat, and packed with guile.

Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow

Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.