Rupert Brooke

Stands the Church clock at ten to three?And is there honey still for tea?

Spend the glittering moonlight therePursuing down the soundless deepLimbs that gleam and shadowy hair,Or floating lazy, half-asleep.Dive and double and follow after,Snare in flowers, and kiss, and call,With lips that fade, and human laughterAnd faces individual,Well this side of Paradise! . . .There's little comfort in the wise.

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.

I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise The pain the calm and the astonishment Desire illimitable and silent content And all dear names men use to cheat despair For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the dark of life.

I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation.

If I should die think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever England.

If I should die think only this of me that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.

Canada is a live country - live but not like the States kicking.

...in that rich earth a richer dust concealed.(I'm flogging a dead horse w/ this one but this is the 1st time I've even seen this quotes feature! I just wanted to post something.)

My night shall be remembered for a starThat outshone all the suns of all men's days

Ah God! to see the branches stir Across the moon at Grantchester! To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten Unforgettable, unforgotten River-smell, and hear the breeze Sobbing in the little trees. Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand Still guardians of that holy land? The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream, The yet unacademic streamIs dawn a secret shy and cold Anadyomene, silver-gold? And sunset still a golden sea From Haslingfield to Madingley? And after, ere the night is born,Do hares come out about the corn? Oh, is the water sweet and cool, Gentle and brown, above the pool? And laughs the immortal river still Under the mill, under the mill?Say, is there Beauty yet to find? And Certainty? and Quiet kind? Deep meadows yet, for to forget The lies, and truths, and pain?_ oh! yet Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?