Poems of Rupert Brooke [24]
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
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