Hauntings
Rupert Brooke
In the grey tumult of these after years Oft silence falls; the incessant wranglers part; And less-than-echoes of remembered tears Hush all the loud confusion of the heart; And a shade, through the toss'd ranks of mirth and crying Hungers, and pains, and each dull passionate mood, -- Quite lost, and all but all forgot, undying, Comes back the ecstasy of your quietude. So a poor ghost, beside his misty streams, Is haunted by strange doubts, evasive dreams, Hints of a pre-Lethean life, of men, Stars, rocks, and flesh, things unintelligible, And light on waving grass, he knows not when, And feet that ran, but where, he cannot tell.
Next 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : He Wonders Whether To Praise Or Blame Her
- Rupert Brooke : He Wonders Whether To Praise Or To Blame Her
- Rupert Brooke : Heaven
- Rupert Brooke : Hill, The
- Rupert Brooke : Home
- Rupert Brooke : I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True
- Rupert Brooke : I. Peace
- Rupert Brooke : Ii. Safety
- Rupert Brooke : Iii. The Dead
- Rupert Brooke : In Examination
Previous 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : Great Lover, The
- Rupert Brooke : Goddess In The Wood, The
- Rupert Brooke : Funeral Of Youth, The: Threnody
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- Rupert Brooke : Fragment
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- Rupert Brooke : Fish, The
- Rupert Brooke : Finding
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