Rupert Brooke

“ Slight bubbles, fainter than the wave's faint light,
That broke to phosphorus out in the night,
Perishing things and strange ghosts—soon to die
To other ghosts—this one, or that, or I.
⁠April 1915.
THE DANCE
A Song
As the Wind, and as the Wind,
⁠⁠In a corner of the way,
Goes stepping, stands twirling,
Invisibly, comes whirling,
Bows before, and skips behind,
⁠In a grave, an endless play—
So my Heart, and so my Heart,
⁠⁠Following where your feet have gone,
Stirs dust of old dreams there;
He turns a toe; he gleams there,
Treading you a dance apart.
⁠But you see not. You pass on. ”

“ Struck certain magic strains. Ears satiate
With the clamorous, timorous whisperings of to-day,
Thrilled to perceive once more the spacious voice
And serene utterance of old. We heard
—With rapturous breath half-held, as a dreamer dreams
Who dares not know it dreaming, lest he wake—
The odorous, amorous style of poetry,
The melancholy knocking of those lines,
The long, low soughing of pentameters,
—Or the sharp of rhyme as a bird's cry—
And the innumerable truant polysyllables
Multitudinously twittering like a bee. ”

“ And in Antofagastas. Still he went
⁠Cityward daily; still she did abide
At home. And both were really quite content
⁠With work and social pleasures. Then they died.
They left three children (besides George, who drank) :
⁠The eldest Jane, who married Mr Bell,
William, the head-clerk in the County Bank,
⁠And Henry, a stock-broker, doing well.
⁠Lulworth, 1 January 1911.
THE LITTLE DOG'S DAY
All in the town were still asleep,
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
A little dog danced. And the day began. ”