Rupert Brooke

(1887-1915 / Warwickshire / England)

Rupert Brooke Poems

81. Love 12/31/2002
82. Desertion 12/31/2002
83. Peace 1/1/2004
84. Choriambics I 1/3/2003
85. Dawn 5/10/2001
86. Jealousy 12/31/2002
87. Old Vicarage, The - Grantchester 12/31/2002
88. Dining-Room Tea 1/3/2003
89. There's Wisdom In Women 12/31/2002
90. Choriambics Ii 1/3/2003
91. Chilterns, The 12/31/2002
92. The Little Dog's Day 1/13/2003
93. Great Lover, The 12/31/2002
94. Seaside 12/31/2002
95. Pine-Trees And The Sky: Evening 1/3/2003
96. Heaven 12/31/2002
97. The Old Vicarage, Grantchester 1/1/2004
98. Clouds 5/10/2001
99. Day And Night 5/10/2001
100. Charm, The 12/31/2002
101. Day That I Have Loved 12/31/2002
102. The Treasure 1/3/2003
103. Busy Heart, The 12/31/2002
104. A Letter To A Live Poet 5/10/2001
105. Blue Evening 5/10/2001
106. Beginning, The 12/31/2002
107. Dead Men's Love 12/31/2002
108. Ante Aram 5/10/2001
109. Call, The 12/31/2002
110. 1914 Ii: Safety 1/3/2003
111. And Love Has Changed To Kindliness 12/31/2002
112. 1914 Iii: The Dead 1/3/2003
113. A Channel Passage 5/10/2001
114. A Memory (From A Sonnet- Sequence) 5/10/2001
115. Beauty And Beauty 5/10/2001
116. 1914 Iv: The Dead 1/3/2003
117. 1914 I: Peace 1/3/2003
118. 1914 V: The Soldier 1/3/2003
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

The Treasure

When colour goes home into the eyes,
And lights that shine are shut again
With dancing girls and sweet birds’ cries
Behind the gateways of the brain;
And that no-place which gave them birth, shall close
The rainbow and the rose:—

Still may Time hold some golden space
Where I’ll unpack that scented store

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