Rupert Brooke

One may not doubt that, somehow Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And sure, the read more

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.

Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.

Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
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If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever 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.

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
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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.

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.