Poems of Rupert Brooke [25]
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 country'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 rouged 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
(Cafe des
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 country'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 rouged 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
(Cafe des