Poems (Jenkins)/Rupert Brooke, April, 1915
Rupert Brooke. April, 1915
YOUNG and great hearted, went he forth to dare Death on the field of honour; all he sought Was leave to lay life down a thing of naught And spill its hopes and promise on the air. Then lest vile foes should vaunt a spoil so rare The sun that loved him gave a kiss death-fraught Quenching the heaven-enkindled fire that wrought Fair fancies, bodied forth in words more fair,And lit the dreaming beauty of his face With tender mirth and strength-begetting trust,—Impotent strength, and mirth that might not save. Therefore we mourn, counting each vanished grace. Ne'er was so much, since dust returned to dust, Cribbed in the compass of a narrow grave.