Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Rupert Brooke
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My night shall be remembered for a starThat outshone all the suns of all men's days

Rupert Brooke, Great Lover
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Spend the glittering moonlight therePursuing down the soundless deepLimbs that gleam and shadowy hair,Or floating lazy, half-asleep.Dive and double and follow after,Snare in flowers, and kiss, and call,With lips that fade, and human laughterAnd faces individual,Well this side of Paradise! . . .There's little comfort in the wise.

Rupert Brooke, The Collected Poems
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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Rupert Brooke
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I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation.

Rupert Brooke
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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.

Rupert Brooke
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If I should die think only this of me that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.

Rupert Brooke
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Canada is a live country - live but not like the States kicking.

Rupert Brooke
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Ah God! to see the branches stir Across the moon at Grantchester! To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten Unforgettable, unforgotten River-smell, and hear the breeze Sobbing in the little trees. Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand Still guardians of that holy land? The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream, The yet unacademic streamIs dawn a secret shy and cold Anadyomene, silver-gold? And sunset still a golden sea From Haslingfield to Madingley? And after, ere the night is born,Do hares come out about the corn? Oh, is the water sweet and cool, Gentle and brown, above the pool? And laughs the immortal river still Under the mill, under the mill?Say, is there Beauty yet to find? And Certainty? and Quiet kind? Deep meadows yet, for to forget The lies, and truths, and pain?… oh! yet Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?

Rupert Brooke, The Old Vicarage, Grantchester
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