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User Rating: |
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8.4
/10
(18
votes)
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Now, God be thanked Who has watched 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,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
And all the little emptiness of love!
Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
But only agony, and that has ending;
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
Rupert Brooke
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Read poems about / on: sick, grief, power, peace, friend, sleep, lost, death, god, world, heart, song, thanks
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Comments about this poem (1914 I: Peace
by
Rupert Brooke
) |
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comments about this poem (1914 I: Peace by
Rupert Brooke
)
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Michael Pruchnicki
(3/28/2009 3:49:00 PM) |
'Horrid phrase, ' he says in that simpering way he has. At least others say what they mean, but our man prefers the raised eyebrow and knowing smirk of the cognoscente!
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Kevin Straw
(3/28/2009 8:04:00 AM) |
'all the little emptiness of love' - what a horrid phrase!
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Jenny Doughty
(12/17/2006 6:14:00 PM) |
A poem very much of its time - but there's a typo here. The first line should read 'Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour, ' not 'watched', which makes no sense if you think about it.
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Rupert Brooke
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