All Poems
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The Dead: IV
© Rupert Brooke
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Theologian's Tale; Elizabeth
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"Ah, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us!
In the old country the twilight is longer; but here in the forest
Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its coming,
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight;
Yet how grand is the winter! How spotless the snow is, and perfect!"
Sonnet
© Rupert Brooke
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.
First Footsteps
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
A little way, more soft and sweet
Than fields aflower with May,
A babe's feet, venturing, scarce complete
A little way.
Mary and Gabriel
© Rupert Brooke
Young Mary, loitering once her garden way,
Felt a warm splendour grow in the April day,
As wine that blushes water through. And soon,
Out of the gold air of the afternoon,
Pan in Vermont
© Rudyard Kipling
Its forty in the shade to-day, the spouting eaves declare;
The boulders nose above the drift, the southern slopes are bare;
Hub-deep in slush Apollos car swings north along the Zod-
iac. Good luck, the Spring is back, and Pan is on the road!
The Chilterns
© Rupert Brooke
Your hands, my dear, adorable,
Your lips of tenderness
-- Oh, I've loved you faithfully and well,
Three years, or a bit less.
It wasn't a success.
The Charm
© Rupert Brooke
Your magic and your beauty and your strength,
Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,
Sleeping prevail in earth and air.
Triste, Triste
© Gwen Harwood
In the space between love and sleep
when heart mourns in its prison
eyes against shoulder keep
their blood-black curtains tight.
Body rolls back like a stone, and risen
spirit walks to Easter light;
A Hymn to Contentment
© Thomas Parnell
Lovely, lasting peace, appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.
IV. The Dead
© Rupert Brooke
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
Blue Evening
© Rupert Brooke
My restless blood now lies a-quiver,
Knowing that always, exquisitely,
This April twilight on the river
Stirs anguish in the heart of me.
The Ransom
© Charles Baudelaire
Man, with which to pay his ransom,
has two fields of deep rich earth,
which he must dig and bring to birth,
with the iron blade of reason.
The Wayfarers
© Rupert Brooke
Do you think theres a far border town, somewhere,
The deserts edge, last of the lands we know,
Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
In which Ill find you waiting; and well go
Together, hand in hand again, out there,
Into the waste we know not, into the night?
Sleeping Out: Full Moon
© Rupert Brooke
They sleep within. . . .
I cower to the earth, I waking, I only.
High and cold thou dreamest, O queen, high-dreaming and lonely.
Fragments - Lines 1327 - 1334
© Theognis of Megara
My boy, as long as your cheeks and chin are smooth, I shall never
Cease to praise you, not even if I am fated to die.
Libido
© Rupert Brooke
Love wakens love! I felt your hot wrist shiver
And suddenly the mad victory I planned
Flashed real, in your burning bending head. . . .
My conqueror's blood was cool as a deep river
In shadow; and my heart beneath your hand
Quieter than a dead man on a bed.
The Curse Of Hungary
© John Hay
Saloman looked from his donjon bars,
Where the Danube clamors through sedge and sand,
And he cursed with a curse his revolting land,--
With a king's deep curse of treason and wars.
Day That I Have Loved
© Rupert Brooke
Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes,
And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.
The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.
I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands,
