Rupert Brooke

Rupert Brooke

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Rupert Chawner Brooke (3 August 1887 – 23 April 1915) was an English poet known for his idealistic war sonnets written during the First World War, especially The Soldier. He was also known for his boyish good looks, which were said to have prompted the Irish poet W. B. Yeats to describe him as "the handsomest young man in England".
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The Old Vicarage Grantchester

Just now the lilac is in bloom,
All before my little room;
And in my flower-beds,
I think,
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In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you,
I do remember,
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Sonnet Reversed

Hand trembling towards hand; the amazing
Of heart and eye
They stood on supreme heights
Ah, the delirious weeks of honeymoon
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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
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Because God put His adamantine fate Between my sullen heart and its desire,
I swore that I would burst the Iron Gate,
Rise up, and curse Him on His throne of fire
Earth shuddered at my crown of blasphemy,
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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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The One Before The Last

I dreamt I was in love again With the One Before the Last,
And smiled to greet the pleasant pain Of that innocent young past
But I jumped to feel how sharp had been The pain when it did live,
How the faded dreams of Nineteen-ten Wer...
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The Voice

Safe in the magic of my woods I lay, and watched the dying light
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,
Silver and blue and green were showing
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Dining-Room Tea

When you were there, and you, and you, Happiness crowned the night;
I too, Laughing and looking, one of all, I watched the quivering lamplight fall On plate and flowers and pouring
And cup and cloth; and they and we Flung all the dancing...
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The Little Dogs Day

All in the town were still asleep,
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
A little dog danced
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When the white flame in us is gone,
And we that lost the world's
Stiffen in darkness, left alone To crumble in our separate night;
When your swift hair is quiet in death,
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I strayed about the deck, an hour,
Under a cloudy moonless sky; and
In at the windows, watched my friends at table,
Or playing cards, or standing in the doorway,
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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
Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness
Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless,
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The Beginning

Some day I shall rise and leave my
And seek you again through the world's far ends,
You whom I found so fair(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair
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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
Surely a shamed head may bow down at length,
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The War Sonnets II Safety

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 morni...
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