I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True
Rupert Brooke
I said I splendidly loved you; it’s not true. Such long swift tides stir not a land-locked sea. On gods or fools the high risk falls—on you— The clean clear bitter-sweet that’s not for me. Love soars from earth to ecstasies unwist. Love is flung Lucifer-like from Heaven to Hell. But—there are wanderers in the middle mist, Who cry for shadows, clutch, and cannot tell Whether they love at all, or, loving, whom: An old song’s lady, a fool in fancy dress, Or phantoms, or their own face on the gloom; For love of Love, or from heart’s loneliness. Pleasure’s not theirs, nor pain. They doubt, and sigh, And do not love at all. Of these am I.
Next 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : I. Peace
- Rupert Brooke : Ii. Safety
- Rupert Brooke : Iii. The Dead
- Rupert Brooke : In Examination
- Rupert Brooke : In Time Of Revolt
- Rupert Brooke : It's Not Going To Happen Again
- Rupert Brooke : Iv. The Dead
- Rupert Brooke : Jealousy
- Rupert Brooke : Jolly Company, The
- Rupert Brooke : Kindliness
Previous 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : Home
- Rupert Brooke : Hill, The
- Rupert Brooke : Heaven
- Rupert Brooke : He Wonders Whether To Praise Or To Blame Her
- Rupert Brooke : He Wonders Whether To Praise Or Blame Her
- Rupert Brooke : Hauntings
- Rupert Brooke : Great Lover, The
- Rupert Brooke : Goddess In The Wood, The
- Rupert Brooke : Funeral Of Youth, The: Threnody
- Rupert Brooke : Fragment On Painters