Maxioms by Rupert Brooke
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
read more
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.
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.
