1914 I. Peace

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

1Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour
2 And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
3With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
4 To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
5Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
6 Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
7And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
8 And all the little emptiness of love!
9Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
10 Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
11 Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
12Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
13 But only agony, and that has ending;
14 And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.

This poem speaks for itself.

Sarah Y