Rupert Brooke

Warwickshire / England
Rupert Brooke
Warwickshire / England
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Rating: 2.9

Swiftly out from the friendly lilt of the band,
The crowd's good laughter, the loved eyes of men,
I am drawn nightward; I must turn again
Where, down beyond the low untrodden strand,
There curves and glimmers outward to the unknown
The old unquiet ocean. All the shade
Is rife with magic and movement. I stray alone
Here on the edge of silence, half afraid,
Waiting a sign. In the deep heart of me
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Susan Williams 09 February 2016
That last stanza is immensely powerful and the personal truth of it annihilating. Writing at its most incisive.
16 0 Reply
Ratnakar Mandlik 09 February 2016
Amazingly lovable rhyme and poem which is meaningful and thought provoking too. Thanks for sharing.
0 0 Reply

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