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by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

How should I know? The enormous wheels of will
   Drove me cold-eyed on tired and sleepless feet.
Night was void arms and you a phantom still,
   And day your far light swaying down the street.
As never fool for love, I starved for you;
   My throat was dry and my eyes hot to see.
Your mouth so lying was most heaven in view,
   And your remembered smell most agony.

Love wakens love! I felt your hot wrist shiver
   And suddenly the mad victory I planned
      Flashed real, in your burning bending head. . . .
My conqueror's blood was cool as a deep river
   In shadow; and my heart beneath your hand
      Quieter than a dead man on a bed.


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Page last updated: 15 March 1999
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