Rupert Brooke, (1887-1915)
  • While on his way to the Gallipoli campaign he died of acute blood poisoning in 1915.
  • He was buried on the Greek island of Skyros.
  • Written in December 1914

  • Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
  • And caught our youth and wakened us from sleeping,
  • With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
  • To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
  • Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
  • Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
  • And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
  • And all the little emptiness of love!
  • Oh! we who have known shame, we have found release there,
  • Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending
  • Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
  • Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
  • But only agony, and that has ending;
  • And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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