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diff --git a/33902-8.txt b/33902-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8113754 --- /dev/null +++ b/33902-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1737 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of 1914 and Other Poems, by Rupert Brooke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: 1914 and Other Poems + +Author: Rupert Brooke + +Release Date: October 29, 2010 [EBook #33902] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1914 AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + 1914 + AND OTHER POEMS + BY RUPERT BROOKE + + LONDON + + SIDGWICK & JACKSON LIMITED + + 3 ADAM STREET ADELPHI W.C. + 1915 + + + + + _Copyright 1915 by Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd. + All rights reserved_ + + PRINTED AT THE COMPLETE PRESS + WEST NORWOOD + LONDON + + + + +[Illustration: Rupert Brooke 1913] + + + + + _By the same Author_ + POEMS + (_Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd._) + _First edition, 1911 + Reprinted 1913 + May 1915 (twice)_ + + + + +RUPERT BROOKE + + Born at Rugby, August 3, 1887 + Fellow of King's, 1913 + Sub-Lieutenant, R.N.V.R., September 1914 + Antwerp Expedition, October 1914 + Sailed with British Mediterranean + Expeditionary Force, February 28, 1915 + Died in the Ægean, April 23, 1915 + + + + +These poems have appeared in _New Numbers_, the old _Poetry Review_, +_Poetry and Drama_, _Rhythm_, _The Blue Review_, _The New Statesman_, +_The Pall Mall Magazine_, and _Basileon_. Acknowledgements are due to +the Editors who have allowed them to be reprinted. + +The Author had thought of publishing a volume of poems this spring, +but he did not prepare the present book for publication. + + _May 1915_ E. M. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + 1914 + + PAGE + + I. PEACE 11 + II. SAFETY 12 + III. THE DEAD 13 + IV. THE DEAD 14 + V. THE SOLDIER 15 + THE TREASURE 16 + + + THE SOUTH SEAS + + TIARE TAHITI 19 + RETROSPECT 22 + THE GREAT LOVER 24 + HEAVEN 27 + DOUBTS 29 + THERE'S WISDOM IN WOMEN 30 + HE WONDERS WHETHER TO PRAISE OR TO BLAME HER 31 + A MEMORY 32 + ONE DAY 33 + WAIKIKI 34 + HAUNTINGS 35 + SONNET (_Suggested by some of the Proceedings + of the Society for Psychical Research_) 36 + CLOUDS 37 + MUTABILITY 38 + + + OTHER POEMS + + THE BUSY HEART 41 + LOVE 42 + UNFORTUNATE 43 + THE CHILTERNS 44 + HOME 46 + THE NIGHT JOURNEY 47 + SONG 49 + BEAUTY AND BEAUTY 50 + THE WAY THAT LOVERS USE 51 + MARY AND GABRIEL 52 + THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH 55 + + + GRANTCHESTER + + THE OLD VICARAGE, GRANTCHESTER 59 + + + + +1914 + + + + +I. PEACE + + + 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, + Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move, + And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary, + And all the little emptiness of love! + + Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there, + Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending, + Naught broken save this body, lost but breath; + Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there + But only agony, and that has ending; + And the worst friend and enemy is but Death. + + + + +II. SAFETY + + + Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest + He who has found our hid security, + Assured in the dark tides of the world that rest, + And heard our word, 'Who is so safe as we?' + We have found safety with all things undying, + The winds, and morning, tears of men and mirth, + The deep night, and birds singing, and clouds flying, + And sleep, and freedom, and the autumnal earth. + We have built a house that is not for Time's throwing. + We have gained a peace unshaken by pain for ever. + War knows no power. Safe shall be my going, + Secretly armed against all death's endeavour; + Safe though all safety's lost; safe where men fall; + And if these poor limbs die, safest of all. + + + + +III. THE DEAD + + + 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. + These laid the world away; poured out the red + Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be + Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, + That men call age; and those who would have been, + Their sons, they gave, their immortality. + + Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth, + Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain. + Honour has come back, as a king, to earth, + And paid his subjects with a royal wage; + And Nobleness walks in our ways again; + And we have come into our heritage. + + + + +IV. THE DEAD + + + These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, + Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. + The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, + And sunset, and the colours of the earth. + These had seen movement, and heard music; known + Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended; + Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone; + Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended. + + 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. + + + + +V. THE SOLDIER + + + If I should die, think only this of me: + That there's some corner of a foreign field + That is for ever 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. + + And think, this heart, all evil shed away, + A pulse in the eternal mind, no less + Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; + Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; + And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, + In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. + + + + +THE TREASURE + + + When colour goes home into the eyes, + And lights that shine are shut again + With dancing girls and sweet birds' cries + Behind the gateways of the brain; + And that no-place which gave them birth, shall close + The rainbow and the rose:-- + + Still may Time hold some golden space + Where I'll unpack that scented store + Of song and flower and sky and face, + And count, and touch, and turn them o'er, + Musing upon them; as a mother, who + Has watched her children all the rich day through + Sits, quiet-handed, in the fading light, + When children sleep, ere night. + + + + +THE SOUTH SEAS + + + + +TIARE TAHITI + + + Mamua, when our laughter ends, + And hearts and bodies, brown as white, + Are dust about the doors of friends, + Or scent ablowing down the night, + Then, oh! then, the wise agree, + Comes our immortality. + Mamua, there waits a land + Hard for us to understand. + Out of time, beyond the sun, + All are one in Paradise, + You and Pupure are one, + And Taü, and the ungainly wise. + There the Eternals are, and there + The Good, the Lovely, and the True, + And Types, whose earthly copies were + The foolish broken things we knew; + There is the Face, whose ghosts we are; + The real, the never-setting Star; + And the Flower, of which we love + Faint and fading shadows here; + Never a tear, but only Grief; + Dance, but not the limbs that move; + Songs in Song shall disappear; + Instead of lovers, Love shall be; + For hearts, Immutability; + And there, on the Ideal Reef, + Thunders the Everlasting Sea! + + And my laughter, and my pain, + Shall home to the Eternal Brain. + And all lovely things, they say, + Meet in Loveliness again; + Miri's laugh, Teïpo's feet, + And the hands of Matua, + Stars and sunlight there shall meet, + Coral's hues and rainbows there, + And Teüra's braided hair; + And with the starred _tiare's_ white, + And white birds in the dark ravine, + And _flamboyants_ ablaze at night, + And jewels, and evening's after-green, + And dawns of pearl and gold and red, + Mamua, your lovelier head! + And there'll no more be one who dreams + Under the ferns, of crumbling stuff, + Eyes of illusion, mouth that seems, + All time-entangled human love. + And you'll no longer swing and sway + Divinely down the scented shade, + Where feet to Ambulation fade, + And moons are lost in endless Day. + How shall we wind these wreaths of ours, + Where there are neither heads nor flowers? + Oh, Heaven's Heaven!--but we'll be missing + The palms, and sunlight, and the south; + And there's an end, I think, of kissing, + When our mouths are one with Mouth.... + + _Taü here_, Mamua, + Crown the hair, and come away! + Hear the calling of the moon, + And the whispering scents that stray + About the idle warm lagoon. + Hasten, hand in human hand, + Down the dark, the flowered way, + Along the whiteness of the sand, + And in the water's soft caress, + Wash the mind of foolishness, + Mamua, until the day. + Spend the glittering moonlight there + Pursuing down the soundless deep + Limbs that gleam and shadowy hair, + Or floating lazy, half-asleep. + Dive and double and follow after, + Snare in flowers, and kiss, and call, + With lips that fade, and human laughter + And faces individual, + Well this side of Paradise!... + There's little comfort in the wise. + + PAPEETE, _February_ 1914 + + + + +RETROSPECT + + + 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. + Love, in you, went passing by, + Penetrative, remote, and rare, + Like a bird in the wide air, + And, as the bird, it left no trace + In the heaven of your face. + In your stupidity I found + The sweet hush after a sweet sound. + All about you was the light + That dims the greying end of night; + Desire was the unrisen sun, + Joy the day not yet begun, + With tree whispering to tree, + Without wind, quietly. + Wisdom slept within your hair, + And Long-Suffering was there, + And, in the flowing of your dress, + Undiscerning Tenderness. + And when you thought, it seemed to me, + Infinitely, and like a sea, + About the slight world you had known + Your vast unconsciousness was thrown.... + + O haven without wave or tide! + Silence, in which all songs have died! + Holy book, where hearts are still! + And home at length under the hill! + O mother quiet, breasts of peace, + Where love itself would faint and cease! + O infinite deep I never knew, + I would come back, come back to you, + Find you, as a pool unstirred, + Kneel down by you, and never a word, + Lay my head, and nothing said, + In your hands, ungarlanded; + And a long watch you would keep; + And I should sleep, and I should sleep! + + MATAIEA, _January_ 1914 + + + + +THE GREAT LOVER + + + 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 still 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. + Now, ere the unthinking silence on that strife + Steals down, I would cheat drowsy Death so far, + My night shall be remembered for a star + That outshone all the suns of all men's days. + Shall I not crown them with immortal praise + Whom I have loved, who have given me, dared with me + High secrets, and in darkness knelt to see + The inenarrable godhead of delight? + Love is a flame;--we have beaconed the world's night. + A city:--and we have built it, these and I. + An emperor:--we have taught the world to die. + So, for their sakes I loved, ere I go hence, + And the high cause of Love's magnificence, + And to keep loyalties young, I'll write those names + Golden for ever, eagles, crying flames, + And set them as a banner, that men may know, + To dare the generations, burn, and blow + Out on the wind of Time, shining and streaming.... + These I have loved: + White plates and cups, clean-gleaming, + Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust; + Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust + Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food; + Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood; + And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers; + And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours, + Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon; + Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon + Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss + Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is + Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen + Unpassioned beauty of a great machine; + The benison of hot water; furs to touch; + The good smell of old clothes; and other such-- + The comfortable smell of friendly fingers, + Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers + About dead leaves and last year's ferns.... + Dear names, + And thousand other throng to me! Royal flames; + Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap or spring; + Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing; + Voices in laughter, too; and body's pain, + Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train; + Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam + That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home; + And washen stones, gay for an hour; the cold + Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould; + Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew; + And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new; + And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass;-- + All these have been my loves. And these shall pass, + Whatever passes not, in the great hour, + Nor all my passion, all my prayers, have power + To hold them with me through the gate of Death. + They'll play deserter, turn with the traitor breath, + Break the high bond we made, and sell Love's trust + And sacramented covenant to the dust. + --Oh, never a doubt but, somewhere, I shall wake, + And give what's left of love again, and make + New friends, now strangers.... + But the best I've known, + Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown + About the winds of the world, and fades from brains + Of living men, and dies. + Nothing remains. + + O dear my loves, O faithless, once again + This one last gift I give: that after men + Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed, + Praise you, "All these were lovely"; say, "He loved." + + MATAIEA, 1914 + + + + +HEAVEN + + + Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June, + Dawdling away their wat'ry noon) + 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. + We darkly know, by Faith we cry, + The future is not Wholly Dry. + Mud unto mud!--Death eddies near-- + Not here the appointed End, not here! + 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; + And under that Almighty Fin, + The littlest fish may enter in. + 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. + And in that Heaven of all their wish, + There shall be no more land, say fish. + + + + +DOUBTS + + + When she sleeps, her soul, I know, + Goes a wanderer on the air, + Wings where I may never go, + Leaves her lying, still and fair, + Waiting, empty, laid aside, + Like a dress upon a chair.... + This I know, and yet I know + Doubts that will not be denied. + + For if the soul be not in place, + What has laid trouble in her face? + And, sits there nothing ware and wise + Behind the curtains of her eyes, + What is it, in the self's eclipse, + Shadows, soft and passingly, + About the corners of her lips, + The smile that is essential she? + + And if the spirit be not there, + Why is fragrance in the hair? + + + + +THERE'S WISDOM IN WOMEN + + + "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? + + + + + HE WONDERS WHETHER TO PRAISE + OR TO BLAME HER + + + I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over, + But if to praise or blame you, cannot say. + For, who decries the loved, decries the lover; + Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away? + + Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught, + The more fool I, so great a fool to adore; + But if you're that high goddess once I thought, + The more your godhead is, I lose the more. + + Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever! + Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you! + Most fair,--the blind has lost your face for ever! + Most foul,--how could I see you while I kissed you? + + So ... the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you, + For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you. + + + + +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 holiness about you as you slept. + I knelt there; till your waking fingers crept + About my head, and held it. I had rest + Unhoped this side of Heaven, beneath your breast. + I knelt a long time, still; nor even wept. + + It was great wrong you did me; and for gain + Of that poor moment's kindliness, and ease, + And sleepy mother-comfort! + Child, you know + How easily love leaps out to dreams like these, + Who has seen them true. And love that's wakened so + Takes all too long to lay asleep again. + + WAIKIKI, _October_ 1913 + + + + +ONE DAY + + + Today I have been happy. All the day + I held the memory of you, and wove + Its laughter with the dancing light o' the spray, + And sowed the sky with tiny clouds of love, + And sent you following the white waves of sea, + And crowned your head with fancies, nothing worth, + Stray buds from that old dust of misery, + Being glad with a new foolish quiet mirth. + + So lightly I played with those dark memories, + Just as a child, beneath the summer skies, + Plays hour by hour with a strange shining stone, + For which (he knows not) towns were fire of old, + And love has been betrayed, and murder done, + And great kings turned to a little bitter mould. + + THE PACIFIC, _October_ 1913 + + + + +WAIKIKI + + + Warm perfumes like a breath from vine and tree + Drift down the darkness. Plangent, hidden from eyes, + Somewhere an _eukaleli_ thrills and cries + And stabs with pain the night's brown savagery. + And dark scents whisper; and dim waves creep to me, + Gleam like a woman's hair, stretch out, and rise; + And new stars burn into the ancient skies, + Over the murmurous soft Hawaian sea. + + And I recall, lose, grasp, forget again, + And still remember, a tale I have heard, or known + An empty tale, of idleness and pain, + Of two that loved--or did not love--and one + Whose perplexed heart did evil, foolishly, + A long while since, and by some other sea. + + WAIKIKI, 1913 + + + + +HAUNTINGS + + + In the grey tumult of these after years + Oft silence falls; the incessant wranglers part; + And less-than-echoes of remembered tears + Hush all the loud confusion of the heart; + And a shade, through the toss'd ranks of mirth and crying + Hungers, and pains, and each dull passionate mood,-- + Quite lost, and all but all forgot, undying, + Comes back the ecstasy of your quietude. + + So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams, + Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams, + Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men, + Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible, + And light on waving grass, he knows not when, + And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell. + + THE PACIFIC, 1914 + + + + +SONNET (_Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society +for Psychical Research_) + + + Not with vain tears, when we're beyond the sun, + We'll beat on the substantial doors, nor tread + Those dusty high-roads of the aimless dead + Plaintive for Earth; but rather turn and run + Down some close-covered by-way of the air, + Some low sweet alley between wind and wind, + Stoop under faint gleams, thread the shadows, find + Some whispering ghost-forgotten nook, and there + + 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. + + + + +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 + Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness. + Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless, + And turn with profound gesture vague and slow, + As who would pray good for the world, but know + Their benediction empty as they bless. + + 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. + + THE PACIFIC, _October_ 1913 + + + + +MUTABILITY + + + They say there's a high windless world and strange, + Out of the wash of days and temporal tide, + Where Faith and Good, Wisdom and Truth abide, + _Æterna corpora_, subject to no change. + There the sure suns of these pale shadows move; + There stand the immortal ensigns of our war; + Our melting flesh fixed Beauty there, a star, + And perishing hearts, imperishable Love.... + + Dear, we know only that we sigh, kiss, smile; + Each kiss lasts but the kissing; and grief goes over; + Love has no habitation but the heart. + Poor straws! on the dark flood we catch awhile, + Cling, and are borne into the night apart. + The laugh dies with the lips, 'Love' with the lover. + + SOUTH KENSINGTON--MAKAWELI, 1913 + + + + +OTHER POEMS + + + + +THE BUSY HEART + + + Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted, + I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend. + (O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted) + I'll think of Love in books, Love without end; + Women with child, content; and old men sleeping; + And wet strong ploughlands, scarred for certain grain; + And babes that weep, and so forget their weeping; + And the young heavens, forgetful after rain; + And evening hush, broken by homing wings; + And Song's nobility, and Wisdom holy, + That live, we dead. I would think of a thousand things, + Lovely and durable, and taste them slowly, + One after one, like tasting a sweet food. + I have need to busy my heart with quietude. + + + + +LOVE + + + Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, + Where that comes in that shall not go again; + Love sells the proud heart's citadel to Fate. + They have known shame, who love unloved. Even then, + When two mouths, thirsty each for each, find slaking, + And agony's forgot, and hushed the crying + Of credulous hearts, in heaven--such are but taking + Their own poor dreams within their arms, and lying + Each in his lonely night, each with a ghost. + Some share that night. But they know, love grows colder, + Grows false and dull, that was sweet lies at most. + Astonishment is no more in hand or shoulder, + But darkens, and dies out from kiss to kiss. + All this is love; and all love is but this. + + + + +UNFORTUNATE + + + Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap + That's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind; + Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind. + Between the small hands folded in her lap + Surely a shamed head may bow down at length, + And find forgiveness where the shadows stir + About her lips, and wisdom in her strength, + Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!"... + + She will not care. She'll smile to see me come, + So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me. + She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me, + And open wide upon that holy air + The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home, + Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care. + + + + +THE CHILTERNS + + + 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. + + Thank God, that's done! and I'll take the road, + Quit of my youth and you, + The Roman road to Wendover + By Tring and Lilley Hoo, + As a free man may do. + + For youth goes over, the joys that fly, + The tears that follow fast; + And the dirtiest things we do must lie + Forgotten at the last; + Even Love goes past. + + What's left behind I shall not find, + The splendour and the pain; + The splash of sun, the shouting wind, + And the brave sting of rain, + I may not meet again. + + But the years, that take the best away, + Give something in the end; + And a better friend than love have they, + For none to mar or mend, + That have themselves to friend. + + I shall desire and I shall find + The best of my desires; + The autumn road, the mellow wind + That soothes the darkening shires. + And laughter, and inn-fires. + + White mist about the black hedgerows, + The slumbering Midland plain, + The silence where the clover grows, + And the dead leaves in the lane, + Certainly, these remain. + + 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 daresay she will do. + + + + +HOME + + + I came back late and tired last night + Into my little room, + To the long chair and the firelight + And comfortable gloom. + + But as I entered softly in + I saw a woman there, + The line of neck and cheek and chin, + The darkness of her hair, + The form of one I did not know + Sitting in my chair. + + I stood a moment fierce and still, + Watching her neck and hair. + I made a step to her; and saw + That there was no one there. + + It was some trick of the firelight + That made me see her there. + It was a chance of shade and light + And the cushion in the chair. + + Oh, all you happy over the earth, + That night, how could I sleep? + I lay and watched the lonely gloom; + And watched the moonlight creep + From wall to basin, round the room. + All night I could not sleep. + + + + +THE NIGHT JOURNEY + + + Hands and lit faces eddy to a line; + The dazed last minutes click; the clamour dies. + Beyond the great-swung arc o' the roof, divine, + Night, smoky-scarv'd, with thousand coloured eyes + + Glares the imperious mystery of the way. + Thirsty for dark, you feel the long-limbed train + Throb, stretch, thrill motion, slide, pull out and sway, + Strain for the far, pause, draw to strength again.... + + As a man, caught by some great hour, will rise, + Slow-limbed, to meet the light or find his love; + And, breathing long, with staring sightless eyes, + Hands out, head back, agape and silent, move + + Sure as a flood, smooth as a vast wind blowing; + And, gathering power and purpose as he goes, + Unstumbling, unreluctant, strong, unknowing, + Borne by a will not his, that lifts, that grows, + + Sweep out to darkness, triumphing in his goal, + Out of the fire, out of the little room.... + --There is an end appointed, O my soul! + Crimson and green the signals burn; the gloom + + Is hung with steam's far-blowing livid streamers. + Lost into God, as lights in light, we fly, + Grown one with will, end-drunken huddled dreamers. + The white lights roar. The sounds of the world die. + + And lips and laughter are forgotten things. + Speed sharpens; grows. Into the night, and on, + The strength and splendour of our purpose swings. + The lamps fade; and the stars. We are alone. + + + + +SONG + + + All suddenly the wind comes soft, + And Spring is here again; + And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green, + And my heart with buds of pain. + + My heart all Winter lay so numb, + The earth so dead and frore, + That I never thought the Spring would come, + Or my heart wake any more. + + But Winter's broken and earth has woken, + And the small birds cry again; + And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds, + And my heart puts forth its pain. + + + + +BEAUTY AND BEAUTY + + + When Beauty and Beauty meet + All naked, fair to fair, + The earth is crying-sweet, + And scattering-bright the air, + Eddying, dizzying, closing round, + With soft and drunken laughter; + Veiling all that may befall + After--after-- + + Where Beauty and Beauty met, + Earth's still a-tremble there, + And winds are scented yet, + And memory-soft the air, + Bosoming, folding glints of light, + And shreds of shadowy laughter; + Not the tears that fill the years + After--after-- + + + + +THE WAY THAT LOVERS USE + + + The way that lovers use is this; + They bow, catch hands, with never a word, + And their lips meet, and they do kiss, + --So I have heard. + + They queerly find some healing so, + And strange attainment in the touch; + There is a secret lovers know, + --I have read as much. + + And theirs no longer joy nor smart, + Changing or ending, night or day; + But mouth to mouth, and heart on heart, + --So lovers say. + + + + +MARY AND GABRIEL + + + 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, + One knelt before her: hair he had, or fire, + Bound back above his ears with golden wire, + Baring the eager marble of his face. + Not man's nor woman's was the immortal grace + Rounding the limbs beneath that robe of white, + And lighting the proud eyes with changeless light, + Incurious. Calm as his wings, and fair, + That presence filled the garden. + She stood there, + Saying, "What would you, Sir?" + He told his word, + "Blessed art thou of women!" Half she heard, + Hands folded and face bowed, half long had known, + The message of that clear and holy tone, + That fluttered hot sweet sobs about her heart; + Such serene tidings moved such human smart. + Her breath came quick as little flakes of snow. + Her hands crept up her breast. She did but know + It was not hers. She felt a trembling stir + Within her body, a will too strong for her + That held and filled and mastered all. With eyes + Closed, and a thousand soft short broken sighs, + She gave submission; fearful, meek, and glad.... + She wished to speak. Under her breasts she had + Such multitudinous burnings, to and fro, + And throbs not understood; she did not know + If they were hurt or joy for her; but only + That she was grown strange to herself, half lonely, + All wonderful, filled full of pains to come + And thoughts she dare not think, swift thoughts and dumb, + Human, and quaint, her own, yet very far, + Divine, dear, terrible, familiar... + Her heart was faint for telling; to relate + Her limbs' sweet treachery, her strange high estate, + Over and over, whispering, half revealing, + Weeping; and so find kindness to her healing. + 'Twixt tears and laughter, panic hurrying her, + She raised her eyes to that fair messenger. + He knelt unmoved, immortal; with his eyes + Gazing beyond her, calm to the calm skies; + Radiant, untroubled in his wisdom, kind. + His sheaf of lilies stirred not in the wind. + How should she, pitiful with mortality, + Try the wide peace of that felicity + With ripples of her perplexed shaken heart, + And hints of human ecstasy, human smart, + And whispers of the lonely weight she bore, + And how her womb within was hers no more + And at length hers? + Being tired, she bowed her head; + And said, "So be it!" + The great wings were spread + Showering glory on the fields, and fire. + The whole air, singing, bore him up, and higher, + Unswerving, unreluctant. Soon he shone + A gold speck in the gold skies; then was gone. + + The air was colder, and grey. She stood alone. + + + + +THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH: THRENODY + + + The day that _Youth_ had died, + There came to his grave-side, + In decent mourning, from the county's ends, + Those scatter'd friends + Who had lived the boon companions of his prime, + And laughed with him and sung with him and wasted, + In feast and wine and many-crown'd carouse, + The days and nights and dawnings of the time + When _Youth_ kept open house, + Nor left untasted + Aught of his high emprise and ventures dear, + No quest of his unshar'd-- + All these, with loitering feet and sad head bar'd, + Followed their old friend's bier. + _Folly_ went first, + With muffled bells and coxcomb still revers'd; + And after trod the bearers, hat in hand-- + _Laughter_, most hoarse, and Captain _Pride_ with tanned + And martial face all grim, and fussy _Joy_, + Who had to catch a train, and _Lust_, poor, snivelling boy; + These bore the dear departed. + Behind them, broken-hearted, + Came _Grief_, so noisy a widow, that all said, + "Had he but wed + Her elder sister _Sorrow_, in her stead!" + And by her, trying to soothe her all the time, + The fatherless children, _Colour_, _Tune_, and _Rhyme_ + (The sweet lad _Rhyme_), ran all-uncomprehending. + Then, at the way's sad ending, + Round the raw grave they stay'd. Old _Wisdom_ read, + In mumbling tone, the Service for the Dead. + There stood _Romance_, + The furrowing tears had mark'd her rougèd cheek; + Poor old _Conceit_, his wonder unassuaged; + Dead _Innocency's_ daughter, _Ignorance_; + And shabby, ill-dress'd _Generosity_; + And _Argument_, too full of woe to speak; + _Passion_, grown portly, something middle-aged; + And _Friendship_--not a minute older, she; + _Impatience_, ever taking out his watch; + _Faith_, who was deaf, and had to lean, to catch + Old _Wisdom's_ endless drone. + _Beauty_ was there, + Pale in her black; dry-eyed; she stood alone. + Poor maz'd _Imagination_; _Fancy_ wild; + _Ardour_, the sunlight on his greying hair; + _Contentment_, who had known _Youth_ as a child + And never seen him since. And _Spring_ came too, + Dancing over the tombs, and brought him flowers-- + She did not stay for long. + And _Truth_, and _Grace_, and all the merry crew, + The laughing _Winds_ and _Rivers_, and lithe _Hours_; + And _Hope_, the dewy-eyed; and sorrowing _Song_;-- + Yes, with much woe and mourning general, + At dead _Youth's_ funeral, + Even these were met once more together, all, + Who erst the fair and living _Youth_ did know; + All, except only _Love_. _Love_ had died long ago. + + + + +GRANTCHESTER + + + + +THE OLD VICARAGE, GRANTCHESTER + +(_Café des Westens, Berlin, May_ 1912) + + + Just now the lilac is in bloom, + All before my little room; + And in my flower-beds, I think, + Smile the carnation and the pink; + And down the borders, well I know, + The poppy and the pansy blow... + Oh! there the chestnuts, summer through, + Beside the river make for you + A tunnel of green gloom, and sleep + Deeply above; and green and deep + The stream mysterious glides beneath, + Green as a dream and deep as death. + --Oh, damn! I know it! and I know + How the May fields all golden show, + And when the day is young and sweet, + Gild gloriously the bare feet + That run to bathe... + _Du lieber Gott!_ + + Here am I, sweating, sick, and hot, + And there the shadowed waters fresh + Lean up to embrace the naked flesh. + _Temperamentvoll_ German Jews + Drink beer around;--and _there_ the dews + Are soft beneath a morn of gold. + Here tulips bloom as they are told; + Unkempt about those hedges blows + An English unofficial rose; + And there the unregulated sun + Slopes down to rest when day is done, + And wakes a vague unpunctual star, + A slippered Hesper; and there are + Meads towards Haslingfield and Coton + Where das _Betreten's_ not _verboten_. + + [Greek: eithe genoimên] ... 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, + And, flower-lulled in sleepy grass, + Hear the cool lapse of hours pass, + Until the centuries blend and blur + In Grantchester, in Grantchester.... + Still in the dawnlit waters cool + His ghostly Lordship swims his pool, + And tries the strokes, essays the tricks, + Long learnt on Hellespont, or Styx. + Dan Chaucer hears his river still + Chatter beneath a phantom mill. + Tennyson notes, with studious eye, + How Cambridge waters hurry by... + And in that garden, black and white, + Creep whispers through the grass all night; + 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 the one land, I know, + Where men with Splendid Hearts may go; + And Cambridgeshire, of all England, + The shire for Men who Understand; + And of _that_ district I prefer + The lovely hamlet Grantchester. + For Cambridge people rarely smile, + Being urban, squat, and packed with guile; + And Royston men in the far South + Are black and fierce and strange of mouth; + At Over they fling oaths at one, + And worse than oaths at Trumpington, + And Ditton girls are mean and dirty, + And there's none in Harston under thirty, + And folks in Shelford and those parts + Have twisted lips and twisted hearts, + And Barton men make Cockney rhymes, + And Coton's full of nameless crimes, + And things are done you'd not believe + At Madingley, on Christmas Eve. + Strong men have run for miles and miles, + When one from Cherry Hinton smiles; + Strong men have blanched, and shot their wives, + Rather than send them to St. Ives; + Strong men have cried like babes, bydam, + To hear what happened at Babraham. + But Grantchester! ah, Grantchester! + There's peace and holy quiet there, + Great clouds along pacific skies, + And men and women with straight eyes, + Lithe children lovelier than a dream, + A bosky wood, a slumbrous stream, + And little kindly winds that creep + Round twilight corners, half asleep. + In Grantchester their skins are white; + They bathe by day, they bathe by night; + The women there do all they ought; + The men observe the Rules of Thought. + They love the Good; they worship Truth; + They laugh uproariously in youth; + (And when they get to feeling old, + They up and shoot themselves, I'm told)... + + Ah God! to see the branches stir + Across the moon at Grantchester! + To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten + Unforgettable, unforgotten + River-smell, and hear the breeze + Sobbing in the little trees. + Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand + Still guardians of that holy land? + The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream, + The yet unacademic stream? + Is dawn a secret shy and cold + Anadyomene, silver-gold? + And sunset still a golden sea + From Haslingfield to Madingley? + And after, ere the night is born, + Do hares come out about the corn? + Oh, is the water sweet and cool, + Gentle and brown, above the pool? + And laughs the immortal river still + Under the mill, under the mill? + Say, is there Beauty yet to find? + And Certainty? and Quiet kind? + Deep meadows yet, for to forget + The lies, and truths, and pain?... oh! yet + Stands the Church clock at ten to three? + And is there honey still for tea? + + + + + PRINTED AT THE COMPLETE PRESS + WEST NORWOOD + LONDON + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +the book is a faithful transcript of the original physical book. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 1914 and Other Poems, by Rupert Brooke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1914 AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 33902-8.txt or 33902-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/9/0/33902/ + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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