Rupert Chawner Brooke

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. The years had given them kindness. Dawn was

If I should die, think only this of me: That there\'s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a

When colour goes home into the eyes, And lights that shine are shut again With dancing girls and sweet birds\' cries

The damned ship lurched and slithered. Quiet and quick My cold gorge rose; the long sea rolled; I knew I must think hard of something, or be

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There\'s none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These

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

Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest He who has found our hid security, Assured in the dark tides of the world that rest, And heard our