Home ⇒ 📌Rupert Brooke ⇒ One Day
One Day
Today I have been happy. All the day
I held the memory of you, and wove
Its laughter with the dancing light o’ the spray,
And sowed the sky with tiny clouds of love,
And sent you following the white waves of sea,
And crowned your head with fancies, nothing worth,
Stray buds from that old dust of misery,
Being glad with a new foolish quiet mirth.
So lightly I played with those dark memories,
Just as a child, beneath the summer skies,
Plays hour by hour with a strange shining stone,
For which (he knows not) towns were fire of old,
And love has been betrayed, and murder done,
And great kings turned to a little bitter mould.
(1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)
Related poetry:
- O Gather Me the Rose O gather me the rose, the rose, While yet in flower we find it, For summer smiles, but summer goes, And winter waits behind it. For with the dream foregone, foregone, The deed foreborn forever, The worm Regret will canker on, And time will turn him never. So were it well to love, my love, […]...
- Krinken Krinken was a little child, It was summer when he smiled. Oft the hoary sea and grim Stretched its white arms out to him, Calling, “Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!” But the child heard not the sea, Calling, yearning evermore For the summer on the shore. Krinken on the […]...
- Lightly Come or Lightly Go Lightly come or lightly go: Though thy heart presage thee woe, Vales and many a wasted sun, Oread let thy laughter run, Till the irreverent mountain air Ripple all thy flying hair. Lightly, lightly – ever so: Clouds that wrap the vales below At the hour of evenstar Lowliest attendants are; Love and laughter song-confessed […]...
- It Is the Hour It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale’s high note is heard; It is the hour when lover’s vows Seem sweet in every whisper’d word; And gentle winds and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And […]...
- Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...
- The Mole Said he: “I’ll dive deep in the Past, And write a book of direful days When summer skies were overcast With smoke of humble hearths ablaze; When War was rampant in the land, And poor folk cowered in the night, While ruin gaped on every hand – Of ravishing and wrath I’ll write.” Ten years […]...
- The Caged Thrush Freed and Home Again (Villanelle) “Men know but little more than we, Who count us least of things terrene, How happy days are made to be! “Of such strange tidings what think ye, O birds in brown that peck and preen? Men know but little more than we! “When I was borne from yonder tree In bonds to them, I […]...
- Move Eastward, Happy Earth Move eastward, happy earth, and leave Yon orange sunset waning slow: From fringes of the faded eve, O, happy planet, eastward go: Till over thy dark shoulder glow Thy silver sister world, and rise To glass herself in dewey eyes That watch me from the glen below. Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne, Dip […]...
- Working Girls THE working girls in the morning are going to work Long lines of them afoot amid the downtown stores And factories, thousands with little brick-shaped Lunches wrapped in newspapers under their arms. Each morning as I move through this river of young- Woman life I feel a wonder about where it is all Going, so […]...
- In Love For Long I’ve been in love for long With what I cannot tell And will contrive a song For the intangible That has no mould or shape, From which there’s no escape. It is not even a name, Yet is all constancy; Tried or untried, the same, It cannot part from me; A breath, yet as still […]...
- Songs Of Innocence: Introduction Piping down the valleys wild Piping songs of pleasant glee On a cloud I saw a child. And he laughing said to me. Pipe a song about a Lamb: So I piped with merry chear, Piper, pipe that song again So I piped, he wept to hear. Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe Sing thy […]...
- A Landscape By Courbet Low lies the mere beneath the moorside, still And glad of silence: down the wood sweeps clear To the utmost verge where fed with many a rill Low lies the mere. The wind speaks only summer: eye nor ear Sees aught at all of dark, hears aught of shrill, From sound or shadow felt or […]...
- Introduction to the Songs of Innocence Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: ‘Pipe a song about a Lamb!’ So I piped with merry cheer. ‘Piper, pipe that song again;’ So I piped: he wept to hear. ‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy […]...
- Reeds of Innocence Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: ‘Pipe a song about a Lamb!’ So I piped with merry cheer. ‘Piper, pipe that song again;’ So I piped: he wept to hear. ‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy […]...
- Piping Down the Valleys Wild Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: ‘Pipe a song about a lamb!’ So I piped with merry cheer. ‘Piper, pipe that song again.’ So I piped: he wept to hear. ‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy […]...
- Tears, Idle Tears Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up […]...
- The Princess: A Medley: Tears, Idle Tears Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up […]...
- Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride? Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my […]...
- There's Wisdom In Women “Oh love is fair, and love is rare;” my dear one she said, “But love goes lightly over.” I bowed her foolish head, And kissed her hair and laughed at her. Such a child was she; So new to love, so true to love, and she spoke so bitterly. But there’s wisdom in women, of […]...
- Memorial Your body was a sacred cell always, A jewel that grew dull in garish light, An opal which beneath my wondering gaze Gleamed rarely, softly throbbing in the night. I touched your flesh with reverential hands, For you were sweet and timid like a flower That blossoms out of barren tropic sands, Shedding its perfume […]...
- Dedication Inscribed to a Dear Child: In Memory of Golden Summer Hours And Whispers of a Summer Sea Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task, Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask The tale he loves to tell. Rude spirits of the seething outer strife, […]...
- The Princess: A Medley: Home they Brought her Warrior Dead Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swoon’d nor utter’d cry: All her maidens, watching, said, “She must weep or she will die.” Then they praised him, soft and low, Call’d him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly […]...
- The Conversation Of Prayer The conversation of prayers about to be said By the child going to bed and the man on the stairs Who climbs to his dying love in her high room, The one not caring to whom in his sleep he will move And the other full of tears that she will be dead, Turns in […]...
- Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: All her maidens, watching, said, ‘She must weep or she will die.’ Then they praised him, soft and low, Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly […]...
- Not A Child ‘Not a child: I call myself a boy,’ Says my king, with accent stern yet mild, Now nine years have brought him change of joy; ‘Not a child.’ How could reason be so far beguiled, Err so far from sense’s safe employ, Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild? Seeing his face bent […]...
- Edith Conant We stand about this place we, the memories; And shade our eyes because we dread to read: “June 17th, 1884, aged 21 years and 3 days.” And all things are changed. And we we, the memories, stand here for ourselves alone, For no eye marks us, or would know why we are here. Your husband […]...
- 1914 IV: The Dead These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, And sunset, and the colours of the earth. These had seen movement, and heard music; known Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended; Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat […]...
- Consolation Mist clogs the sunshine. Smoky dwarf houses Hem me round everywhere; A vague dejection Weighs down my soul. Yet, while I languish, Everywhere countless Prospects unroll themselves, And countless beings Pass countless moods. Far hence, in Asia, On the smooth convent-roofs, On the gilt terraces, Of holy Lassa, Bright shines the sun. Grey time-worn marbles […]...
- Sweet Love, Sweet Thorn, When Lightly To My Heart Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain, While rainy evening drips to misty night, And misty night to cloudy morning clears, And clouds disperse across the gathering light, And […]...
- A Woman's Love So vast the tide of Love within me surging, It overflows like some stupendous sea, The confines of the Present and To-be; And ‘gainst the Past’s high wall I feel it urging, As it would cry “Thou too shalt yield to me!” All other loves my supreme love embodies; I would be she on whose […]...
- To Lady Jane Romance was always young. You come today Just eight years old With marvellous dark hair. Younger than Dante found you When you turned His heart into the way That found the heavenly stair. Perhaps we must be strangers. I confess My soul this hour is Dante’s, And your care Should be for dolls Whose painted […]...
- Bastard The very skies wee black with shame, As near my moment drew; The very hour before you cam I felt I hated you. But now I see how fair you are, How divine your eyes, It seems I step upon a star To leap to Paradise. What care I who your father was: (‘Twas better […]...
- Happy Is England! I Could Be Content Happy is England! I could be content To see no other verdure than its own; To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent; Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment For skies Italian, and an inward groan To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, And […]...
- To her derided Home To her derided Home A Weed of Summer came She did not know her station low Nor Ignominy’s Name Bestowed a summer long Upon a frameless flower Then swept as lightly from disdain As Lady from her Bower Of Bliss the Codes are few As Jesus cites of Him “Come unto me” the moiety That […]...
- Finis An idle rhyme of the summer time, Sweet, and solemn, and tender; Fair with the haze of the moon’s pale rays, Bright with the sunset’s splendour. Summer and beauty over the lands – Careless hours of pleasure; A meeting of eyes and a touching of hands – A change in the floating measure. A deeper […]...
- Modern Love XLVII: We Saw the Swallows We saw the swallows gathering in the sky, And in the osier-isle we heard them noise. We had not to look back on summer joys, Or forward to a summer of bright dye: But in the largeness of the evening earth Our spirits grew as we went side by side. The hour became her husband […]...
- Love and Folly Love’s worshippers alone can know The thousand mysteries that are his; His blazing torch, his twanging bow, His blooming age are mysteries. A charming science but the day Were all too short to con it o’er; So take of me this little lay, A sample of its boundless lore. As once, beneath the fragrant shade […]...
- Home's Kid (For Glenn) This time I know I will never see him again. For a time he played the game, like a child experimenting with blocks, building towers and fortresses but never bridges. Bridges are hard. Invariably his feet would slip, before he found the acceptance parents had denied and other children refused him. Acceptance he couldn’t recognise […]...
- Past and Future The new hath come and now the old retires: And so the past becomes a mountain-cell, Where lone, apart, old hermit-memories dwell In consecrated calm, forgotten yet Of the keen heart that hastens to forget Old longings in fulfilling new desires. And now the Soul stands in a vague, intense Expectancy and anguish of suspense, […]...
- A Leaf Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, That you were married, or soon to be. I have not thought of you, I believe, Since last we parted. Let me see: Five long Summers have passed since then – Each has been pleasant in its own way – And you are but one of a dozen […]...