Rupert Brooke

(1887-1915 / Warwickshire / England)

Busy Heart, The - Poem by Rupert Brooke

Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted,
I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend.
(O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted)
I'll think of Love in books, Love without end;
Women with child, content; and old men sleeping;
And wet strong ploughlands, scarred for certain grain;
And babes that weep, and so forget their weeping;
And the young heavens, forgetful after rain;
And evening hush, broken by homing wings;
And Song's nobility, and Wisdom holy,
That live, we dead. I would think of a thousand things,
Lovely and durable, and taste them slowly,
One after one, like tasting a sweet food.
I have need to busy my heart with quietude.

Comments about Busy Heart, The by Rupert Brooke

  • Rookie - 0 Points Kenneth Ncube (5/30/2014 10:11:00 AM)

    What an amazing poem (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: food, women, child, rain, song, heart, love, woman, sleep, children

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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