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Rupert Brooke
1887 - 1915
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A Letter To A Live Poet
Sir, since the last Elizabethan died, / Or, rather, that more Paradisal muse, / Blind with much light, passed to the light more glorious
A Memory (From A Sonnet-Sequence)
Somewhile before the dawn I rose, and stept / Softly along the dim way to your room, / And found you sleeping in the quiet gloom,
And Love Has Changed To Kindliness
When love has changed to kindliness, / Oh, love, our hungry lips, that press / So tight that Time's an old god's dream
Ante Aram
Before thy shrine I kneel, an unknown worshipper, / Chanting strange hymns to thee and sorrowful litanies, / Incense of dirges, prayers that are as holy myrrh.
Beauty And Beauty
When Beauty and Beauty meet / All naked, fair to fair, / The earth is crying-sweet,
Blue Evening
My restless blood now lies a-quiver, / Knowing that always, exquisitely, / This April twilight on the river
Choriambics - I
Ah! not now, when desire burns, and the wind calls, and the suns of spring / Light-foot dance in the woods, whisper of life, woo me to wayfaring; / Ah! not now should you come, now when the road beckons, and good friends call,
Choriambics - II
Here the flame that was ash, shrine that was void, lost in the haunted wood, / I have tended and loved, year upon year, I in the solitude / Waiting, quiet and glad-eyed in the dark, knowing that once a gleam
Clouds
Down the blue night the unending columns press / In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow, / Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow
Day That I Have Loved
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.
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