Rupert Chawner Brooke (Руперт Брук)

Song (The way of love was thus)

The way of love was thus.
He was born one winter morn
With hands delicious,
And it was well with us.

Love came our quiet way,
Lit pride in us, and died in us,
All in a winter's day.
There is no more to say.

1. Lines Written in the Belief That the Ancient Roman Festival of the Dead Was Called Ambarvalia
2. Fragment on Painters
3. The Funeral of Youth: Threnody
4. On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess
5. I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True

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