Poem by Rupert Chawner Brooke

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. Fragment on Painters
2. The True Beatitude
3. Desertion
4. Song (All suddenly the wind comes soft)
5. I Said I Splendidly Loved You; It's Not True

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