Poem by Rupert Chawner Brooke

* * *

 The way that lovers use is this;
   They bow, catch hands, with never a word,
 And their lips meet, and they do kiss,
   --So I have heard.

 They queerly find some healing so,
   And strange attainment in the touch;
 There is a secret lovers know,
   --I have read as much.

 And theirs no longer joy nor smart,
   Changing or ending, night or day;
 But mouth to mouth, and heart on heart,
   --So lovers say.

1. Fragment on Painters
2. Song (The way of love was thus)
3. The True Beatitude
4. Desertion
5. Song (All suddenly the wind comes soft)

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