Rupert Brooke (1887-1915 / Warwickshire / England)
Here the flame that was ash, shrine that was void,
lost in the haunted wood,
I have tended and loved, year upon year, I in the solitude
Waiting, quiet and glad-eyed in the dark, knowing that once a gleam
Glowed and went through the wood. Still I abode strong in a golden dream,
For I, I that had faith, knew that a face would glance
One day, white in the dim woods, and a voice call, and a radiance
Fill the grove, and the fire suddenly leap . . . and, in the heart of it,
End of labouring, you! Therefore I kept ready the altar, lit
The flame, burning apart.
Face of my dreams vainly in vision white
Gleaming down to me, lo! hopeless I rise now. For about midnight
Whispers grew through the wood suddenly, strange cries in the boughs above
Grated, cries like a laugh. Silent and black then through the sacred grove
Great birds flew, as a dream, troubling the leaves, passing at length.
Long expected and long loved, that afar, God of the dim wood, you
Somewhere lay, as a child sleeping, a child suddenly reft from mirth,
White and wonderful yet, white in your youth, stretched upon foreign earth,
God, immortal and dead!
Therefore I go; never to rest, or win
Peace, and worship of you more, and the dumb wood and the shrine therein.
Rupert Brooke's Other Poems
- 1914 I: Peace
- 1914 II: Safety
- 1914 III: The Dead
- 1914 IV: The Dead
- 1914 V: The Soldier
- A Channel Passage
- A Letter to a Live Poet
- A Memory (From A Sonnet- Sequence)
- And love has changed to kindliness
- Ante Aram
- Beauty and Beauty
- Beginning, The
- Blue Evening
- Busy Heart, The
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