The Wayfarers
Rupert Brooke
Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place Made fair by one another for a while. Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace; The long road then, unlit by your faint smile. Ah! the long road! and you so far away! Oh, I’ll remember! but . . . each crawling day Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile Dull the dear pain of your remembered face. . . . Do you think there’s a far border town, somewhere, The desert’s edge, last of the lands we know, Some gaunt eventual limit of our light, In which I’ll find you waiting; and we’ll go Together, hand in hand again, out there, Into the waste we know not, into the night?
Next 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : There's Wisdom In Women
- Rupert Brooke : Thoughts On The Shape Of The Human Body
- Rupert Brooke : Tiare Tahiti
- Rupert Brooke : Town And Country
- Rupert Brooke : Treasure, The
- Rupert Brooke : Unfortunate
- Rupert Brooke : V. The Soldier
- Rupert Brooke : Victory
- Rupert Brooke : Vision Of The Archangels, The
- Rupert Brooke : Voice, The
Previous 10 Poems
- Rupert Brooke : The Way That Lovers Use
- Rupert Brooke : The Voice
- Rupert Brooke : The Vision Of The Archangels
- Rupert Brooke : The True Beatitude ( Bouts-rimes )
- Rupert Brooke : The Treasure
- Rupert Brooke : The Song Of The Pilgrims
- Rupert Brooke : The Song Of The Beasts
- Rupert Brooke : The Soldier
- Rupert Brooke : The One Before The Last
- Rupert Brooke : The Old Vicarage, Grantchester