The Collected Poems of Rupert BrookeJohn Lane, 1915 - 168 páginas |
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AMBARVALIA Antwerp beauty blue breath Brooke's cool creep cries dance dark dark tide dawn dead dear death delight dream dumb dust earth ecstasy Edward Thomas England English English poetry eternal eyes face fades faint fair feet fire flame flowers fool friends gleam gloom gold golden Grantchester grey hair hands Haslingfield heart heaven hill holy hush immortal kiss knew Lascelles Abercrombie laugh laughter Lemnos light limbs lips lonely lover Madingley Mamua Menelaus moon never night Old Vicarage pain passion peace poem poets quiet radiant Rupert Brooke scented Scyros shade shining sick sigh silence skies sleep smile soft song sonnet South Sea star stir strange suddenly sweet there's things thought tide unreluctant voice WAIKIKI wake wandering watch waters wave weep Westminster Gazette whispering wind wine of youth wings wise woods young youth
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Página xii - Through other lovers, other lips," said I, "Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!" "We are earth's best, that learnt her lesson here. Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said; "We shall go down with unreluctant tread Rose-crowned into the darkness!
Página 125 - These I have loved: White plates and cups, clean-gleaming, Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust; Wet roofs, beneath the lamplight; the strong crust Of friendly bread; and many-fasting food: Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood; And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers; And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny...
Página 111 - Now, God be thanked who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping, Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary...
Página 127 - Oh! never fly conceals a hook, Fish say, in the Eternal Brook, But more than mundane weeds are there, And mud, celestially fair; Fat caterpillars drift around, And Paradisal grubs are found; Unfading moths, immortal flies, And the worm that never dies.
Página 130 - Oh love is fair, and love is rare;" my dear one she said, "But love goes lightly over." I bowed her foolish head, And kissed her hair and laughed at her. Such a child was she; So new to love, so true to love, and she spoke so bitterly. But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own, Or how should my dear one, being ignorant and young, Have cried on love so bitterly, with so true a tongue?
Página 160 - Betreten's not verboten. . . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester! — Some, it may be, can get in touch With Nature there, or Earth, or such. And clever modern men have seen A Faun a-peeping through the green, And felt the Classics were not dead, To glimpse a Naiad's reedy head, Or hear the Goat-foot piping low: . . But these are things I do not know. I only know that you may lie Day long and watch the Cambridge sky...
Página 51 - ... me, long before I tire Of watching you; and swing me suddenly Into the shade and loneliness and mire Of the last land! There, waiting patiently, One day, I think, I'll feel a cool wind blowing, See a slow light across the Stygian tide, And hear the Dead about me stir, unknowing, And tremble. And I shall know that you have died, And watch you, a broad-browed and smiling dream, Pass, light as ever, through the lightless host, Quietly ponder, start, and sway, and gleam — Most individual and bewildering...
Página 161 - And spectral dance, before the dawn, A hundred Vicars down the lawn; Curates, long dust, will come and go On lissom, clerical, printless toe; And oft between the boughs is seen The sly shade of a Rural Dean . . . Till, at a shiver in the skies, Vanishing with Satanic cries, The prim ecclesiastic rout Leaves but a startled sleeper-out, Grey heavens, the first bird's drowsy calls, The falling house that never falls. God ! I will pack, and take a train, And get me to England once again! For England's...
Página vii - She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu...
Página 115 - If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam; A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.