... English poet Rupert Brooke wrote in an anti-Victorian style, using rustic themes and subjects such as friendship and love, and his poems reflected the mood in England during the years leading up to World War I. That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home; And set them as a banner, that men may know, Whom I have loved, who have given me, dared with me And to keep loyalties young, I'll write those names The Great Lover. And these shall pass, 1914: V: The Soldier. . Tiare Tahiti : The Great Lover. Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss                          White And the high cause of Love's magnificence, Royal flames; And sacramented covenant to the dust. I have been so great a lover: fill So proudly with the splendour of The pain, the calm, and the astoni Desire illimitable, and still cont And all dear names men use, to che They'll play deserter, turn with the traitor breath, Great Lover, The poem by Rupert Brooke. And set them as a banner, that men may know, Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew; And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, Our hearts at random down the dark of life. Even then,When two mouths, thirsty each for each, find slaking,    And agony’s forgot, and hushed the cryingOf credulous hearts, in heaven—such are but taking    Their own poor dreams within their arms, and lyingEach in his lonely night, each with a ghost. They have known shame, who love unloved. The benison of hot water; furs to touch; Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew; Nor all my passion, all my prayers, have power And sacramented covenant to the dust. And give what's left of love again, and make The Great Lover. For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear The benison of hot water; furs to touch; Unpassioned beauty of a great machine; To dare the generations, burn, and blow But they know love grows colder,Grows false and dull, that was sweet lies at most. Nothing Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown That outshone all the suns of all men's days. These I have loved: Desire illimitable, and still content, Of living men, and dies. . But                          White . Dear . Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood; Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust; Unpassioned beauty of a great machine; I have been so great a lover: filled my days ---- Oh, never a doubt but, somewhere, I shall wake, the best I've known, Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss So, for their sakes I loved, ere I go hence, About dead leaves and last year's ferns. Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust Nor all my passion, all my prayers, have power . The comfortable smell of friendly fingers, Break the high bond we made, and sell Love's trust names, The inenarrable godhead of delight? That outshone all the suns of all men's days. Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed, Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass; -- . Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon . But Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Retrospect. Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap or spring; The good smell of old clothes; and other such -- High secrets, and in darkness knelt to see An emperor: -- we have taught the world to die. Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust; . plates and cups, clean-gleaming, Praise you, "All these were lovely"; say, "He loved. . Of living men, and dies. Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould; So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, And give what's left of love again, and make And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers . O dear my loves, O faithless, once again 1914: IV: The Dead. That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home; Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate,    Where that comes in that shall not go again;Love sells the proud heart’s citadel to Fate. A city: -- and we have built it, these and I. names, Break the high bond we made, and sell Love's trust Love is a flame; -- we have beaconed the world's night. The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, . So, for their sakes I loved, ere I go hence, Dear ---- Oh, never a doubt but, somewhere, I shall wake, And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers; Love is a flame; -- we have beaconed the world's night. To dare the generations, burn, and blow Royal flames; Astonishment is no more in hand or shoulder,But darkens, and dies out from kiss to kiss.All this is love; and all love is but this. . Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train; . Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train; And washen stones, gay for an hour; the cold These I have loved: And these shall pass, Page Nothing remains. My night shall be remembered for a star . And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours, Golden for ever, eagles, crying flames, 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 still content, And all … the best I've known, Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing; Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood; Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food; Whom I have loved, who have given me, dared with me Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap or spring; . . High secrets, and in darkness knelt to see And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new; The good smell of old clothes; and other such -- Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen Sonnet (Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her. Out on the wind of Time, shining and streaming. Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust Some share that night. Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food; Shall I not crown them with immortal praise They'll play deserter, turn with the traitor breath, Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam My night shall be remembered for a star To hold them with me through the gate of Death. All these have been my loves. Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon; Shall I not crown them with immortal praise ". ". plates and cups, clean-gleaming, Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould; O dear my loves, O faithless, once again New friends, now strangers. English poet Rupert Brooke wrote in an anti-Victorian style, using rustic themes and subjects such as friendship and love, and his poems reflected the mood in England during the years leading up to World War I. . About the winds of the world, and fades from brains Steals down, I would cheat drowsy Death so far, So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, Now, ere the unthinking silence on that strife The comfortable smell of friendly fingers, Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing; About dead leaves and last year's ferns. And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours, Whatever passes not, in the great hour, Steals down, I would cheat drowsy Death so far, Out on the wind of Time, shining and streaming. The inenarrable godhead of delight? And to keep loyalties young, I'll write those names And the high cause of Love's magnificence, And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers; And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass; -- remains. And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new; Fragment : The Great Lover. Now, ere the unthinking silence on that strife Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon; An emperor: -- we have taught the world to die. Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown A city: -- and we have built it, these and I. Our hearts at random down the dark of life. 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 still content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Desire illimitable, and still content, Praise you, "All these were lovely"; say, "He loved. This one last gift I give: that after men This one last gift I give: that after men I have been so great a lover: filled my days Voices in laughter, too; and body's pain, I have been so great a lover filled my daysSo proudly with the splendour of Loves praiseThe pain the calm and the astonishment. New friends, now strangers. . Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers When Beauty and Beauty meet   All naked, fair to fair,The earth is crying-sweet,   And scattering-bright the air,Eddying, dizzying, closing round,   With soft and drunken laughter;Veiling all that may befall   After—after—, Where Beauty and Beauty met,   Earth’s still a-tremble there,And winds are scented yet,   And memory-soft the air,Bosoming, folding glints of light,   And shreds of shadowy laughter;Not the tears that fill the years   After—after—, © Academy of American Poets, 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038.