Rupert Chawner Brooke (Руперт Брук)

* * *

Oh! Death will find me, long before I tire
Of watching you; and swing me suddenly
Into the shade and loneliness and mire
Of the last land! There, waiting patiently,

One day, I think, I'll feel a cool wind blowing,
See a slow light across the Stygian tide,
And hear the Dead about me stir, unknowing,
And tremble. And I shall know that you have died,

And watch you, a broad-browed and smiling dream,
Pass, light as ever, through the lightless host,
Quietly ponder, start, and sway, and gleam --
Most individual and bewildering ghost! --

And turn, and toss your brown delightful head
Amusedly, among the ancient Dead. 

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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