Rupert Brooke

(1887-1915 / Warwickshire / England)

Rupert Brooke Poems

41. Mutability 12/31/2002
42. The Hill 1/3/2003
43. Kindliness 12/31/2002
44. Song. 1/1/2004
45. Now, God Be Thanked Who Has Matched Us With His Hour 1/13/2003
46. Libido 12/31/2002
47. The Way That Lovers Use 1/3/2003
48. Victory 12/31/2002
49. Waikiki 12/31/2002
50. One Day 12/31/2002
51. Life Beyond, The 12/31/2002
52. Thoughts On The Shape Of The Human Body 12/31/2002
53. Way That Lovers Use, The 12/31/2002
54. The Great Lover 1/3/2003
55. Unfortunate 12/31/2002
56. Tiare Tahiti 12/31/2002
57. The Night Journey 1/3/2003
58. Night Journey, The 12/31/2002
59. Flight 12/31/2002
60. Second Best 12/31/2002
61. Oh! Death Will Find Me, Long Before I Tire 1/13/2003
62. The Wayfarers 1/3/2003
63. Sonnet: I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True 12/31/2002
64. Paralysis 12/31/2002
65. Hauntings 12/31/2002
66. Goddess In The Wood, The 12/31/2002
67. Retrospect 12/31/2002
68. Menelaus And Helen 12/31/2002
69. Success 12/31/2002
70. Choriambics I 1/3/2003
71. Sleeping Out: Full Moon 1/3/2003
72. Hill, The 12/31/2002
73. Home 12/31/2002
74. There's Wisdom In Women 12/31/2002
75. Pine-Trees And The Sky: Evening 1/3/2003
76. Doubts 12/31/2002
77. Failure 12/31/2002
78. Funeral Of Youth, The: Threnody 12/31/2002
79. Love 12/31/2002
80. Seaside 12/31/2002

Comments about Rupert Brooke

  • Ian Fraser (10/19/2009 2:47:00 PM)

    Rupert Brooke's poetry gained an undeserved reputation after WWI for jingoism and a simplistic view of war. However, reading this and other poems it is clear that Brooke never glorified war as Tennyson had for, example, in the celebrated Charge of the Light Brigade, merely the heroism of those who fought in it. This poem is a simple elegy of loss and, notwithstanding the more famous, The Soldier, perhaps the best he wrote.

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  • Paul Henry Dallaire Paul Henry Dallaire (10/19/2009 9:24:00 AM)

    1914 the dead
    A great poem & an astounding memorian for the dead soldiers.

Best Poem of Rupert Brooke

1914 V: The Soldier

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 richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of ...

Read the full of 1914 V: The Soldier

Beginning, The

Some day I shall rise and leave my friends
And seek you again through the world's far ends,
You whom I found so fair
(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),
My only god in the days that were.
My eager feet shall find you again,
Though the sullen years and the mark of pain
Have changed you wholly; for I shall know
(How could I forget having loved you so?),

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