Armistice Day 2007
1914 IV. The Dead
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
Labels: Armistice Day
posted by Dees Stribling @ 11:00 AM
2 comments
2 Comments:
Sadly, nobody reads Rupert Burke anymore. You get, what, two of his poems in a lit survey class at some point, and that's all?
Oddly, it was his memorial in Poet's Corner at Westminster that touched me the most--him and, elsewhere in the abbey, that great, demented polar explorer Sir John Franklin, whose memorial read "towards no earthly pole."
bloody hell, Brooke, not Burke. Sorry about that. My only excuse is, I was watching a storm over the lake as I typed, and not actually paying attention to the keyboard.
See, this is why they never should have taught us how to type without looking at the keys.
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