Quotes from Rupert Brooke

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

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.

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.

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

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.

Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.

They say that the Dead die not, but remain Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth. I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these, In wise majestic melancholy train, And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas, And men, coming and going on the earth.

Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.

But there's a wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.

A man's life is of many flashing moments, and yet one stream; a nation's flows through all its citizens, and yet is more than they.

Then from the sad west turning wearily, I saw the pines against the white north sky. Very beautiful, and still, and bending over Their sharp black heads against a quiet sky.

Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Where that comes in that shall not go again.

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

My American friends were full of kindly scorn when I announced that I was going to Canada. "A country without a soul!" they cried, and pressed books upon me, to befriend me through that Philistine bleakness.

There's little comfort in the wise.

Helpless I lie. And around me the feet of thy watchers tread. There is a rumour and a radiance of wings above my head, An intolerable radiance of wings....

Here in the dark, O heart; Alone with the enduring Earth, and Night, And Silence, and the warm strange smell of clover; Clear-visioned, though it break you; far apart From the dead best, the dear and old delight; Throw down your dreams of immortality, O faithful, O foolish lover!

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, Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea's making Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned. There you'll be laid, past fear of sleep or hope of waking; And over the unmoving sea, without a sound.

I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have.

Now, God be thanked, Who has matched us with His hour,And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping.

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Oh! yetStands the church clock at ten to three?And is there honey still for tea?

Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soonSmooth away trouble; and the rough male kissOf blankets; grainy wood; live hair that isShining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keenUnpassioned beauty of a great machine;The benison of hot water; furs to touch;The good smell of old clothes.