In Time Of Revolt
Rupert Brooke
The Thing must End. I am no boy! I am
No boy! I being twenty-one. Uncle, you make
A great mistake, a very great mistake,
In chiding me for letting slip a “Damn!”
What’s more, you called me “Mother’s one ewe
lamb,”
Bade me “refrain from swearing—for her sake—
Till I’m grown up” . . .—By God! I think you
take
Too much upon you, Uncle William!
You say I am your brother’s only son.
I know it. And, “What of it?” I reply.
My heart’s resolved. Something must be done.
So shall I curb, so baffle, so suppress
This too avuncular officiousness,
Intolerable consanguinity.
Next 10 Poems
- 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
- Rupert Brooke : Libido
- Rupert Brooke : Life Beyond, The
- Rupert Brooke : Lines Written In The Belief That The Ancient Roman Festival Of The Dead Was Called Ambarvalia
- Rupert Brooke : Love
- Rupert Brooke : Mary And Gabriel
Previous 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : In Examination
- Rupert Brooke : Iii. The Dead
- Rupert Brooke : Ii. Safety
- Rupert Brooke : I. Peace
- Rupert Brooke : I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True
- 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
