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In Memory of Rupert Brooke

In alien earth, across a troubled sea,
His body lies that was so fair and young.
His mouth is stopped, with half his songs unsung;
His arm is still, that struck to make men free.
But let no cloud of lamentation be
Where, on a warrior's grave, a lyre is hung.
We keep the echoes of his golden tongue,
We keep the vision of his chivalry.
So Israel's joy, the loveliest of kings,
Smote now his harp, and now the hostile horde.

To-day the starry roof of Heaven rings
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Glen Kappy 03 August 2020

kilmer, with this eulogy, was obviously aware of brooke, another young man and poet, whose life, like so many others, was cut short in what was supposed to be the " war to end all wars." i wonder if kilmer had any presentiment of his own death, also in world war 1, when he wrote this. -glenj

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Stephen Loomes 21 September 2016

Two magnificent poetic voices, Kilmer and Brooke; how eloquent need a tongue be for all ears to hear that war is a human nightmare that should never occur again

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