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Rupert Chawner Brooke (Руперт Брук)


The Life Beyond


He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
Who held the end was Death. He opens eyes
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain
Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens.
He lies;
And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,
Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,
Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck
Of moveless horror; an Immortal One
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly
Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse’s neck.

I though when love for you died, I should die.
It’s dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on. 



Rupert Chawner Brooke's other poems:
  1. He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her
  2. Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body
  3. Sometimes Even Now I May
  4. Pine-Trees and the Sky: Evening
  5. The Vision of the Archangels


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