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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
- Heaven [Fish : Heaven : Immortality]
One may not doubt that, somehow Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And sure, the reverent eye must see
A purpose in Liquidity.
- Heaven [Goodness]
Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say
What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.
- New Numbers [Heaven]
In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you, I do remember,
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
- Retrospect [Love]
'Mid youth and song, feasting and carnival,
Through laughter, through the roses, as of old
Comes Death, on shadowy and relentless feet
Death, unappeasable by prayer or gold;
Death is the end, the end.
Proud, then clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet
Death as a friend!
- Second Best [Death]
Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.
- Second Best [Day]
Oh! death will find me, long before I tire
Of watching for you; and swing me suddenly
Into the shade and loneliness and mire
Of the last land!
- Sonnet, (collection 1908 - 1911) [Death]
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
These laid the world away: poured out the red
Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene
That men call age, and those who would have been
Their sons, they gave their immortality.
- The Dead [Youth]
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
- The Soldier [Books (First Lines) : England]