Oh! death will find me long before I tire of watching you.
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 silent content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the
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.
Youth is stranger than fiction.
A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years. Rupert Brook
Yet, behind the night, Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar, Some white tremendous daybreak.
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.
A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.
Down the blue night the unending columns pressIn noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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 dare say she will do.
And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
Oh! death will find me, long before I tireOf watching for you; and swing me suddenlyInto the shade and loneliness and mireOf the last land!
Oh! Death will find me long before I tire / Of watching you; and swing me suddenly / Into the shade and loneliness and mire / Of the last land!
It's all a terrible tragedy. And yet, in it's details, it's great fun. And - apart from the tragedy - I've never felt happier or better in my life than in those days in Belgium.
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.
But the best I've knownStays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blownAbout the winds of the world, and fades from brainsOf living men, and dies.
Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
These have I loved
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.
Somewhere, behind space and time, Is wetter water, slimier slime
But only agony, and that has ending;And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
There's little comfort in the wise
And think, this heart, all evil shed away, / A pulse in the eternal mind, no less / Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given.
Just now the lilac is in bloomAll before my little room.
If I should die, think only this of me:That there's some corner of a foreign fieldThat is forever England. There shall beIn 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 ai
For Cambridge people rarely smile, Being urban, squat, and packed with guile.
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.
But there's wisdom in women, of more than they have known, And thoughts go blowing through them, are wiser than their own.