Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate,
Where that comes in that shall not go again;
Love sells the proud heart's citadel to Fate.
They have known shame, who love unloved. Even then,
When two mouths, thirsty each for each, find slaking,
And agony's forgot, and hushed the crying
Of credulous hearts, in heaven — such are but taking
Their own poor dreams within their arms, and lying
Each in his lonely night, each with a ghost.
Some share that night. But they know love grows colder,
Grows false and dull, that was sweet lies at most.
Astonishment is no more in hand or shoulder,
But darkens, and dies out from kiss to kiss.
All this is love; and all love is but this.
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lust and love
From guest michelle eleni (contact)
I agree, I think this poem is about lust not true love- this is evident in the last line... "all love is but this" -
Rupert Brooke
did not suvive HIS war, WWI; but his poems stand the test of time. His life and Sassoon's and Graves' are a testament to the profound effect which poets can bring to the world. -
wow i have never seen this one
but it sums up love so wisely. -
i luvd the last line you guys !!!
WOW ~ i luv old poetry -
Love by Rupert Brooke
From guest Jo (contact)
Isn't this the 'dirty' poem that Radar (M.A.S.H.) became obsessed with? His imagination ran wild when he read the word 'slaking'. Funny. -
I feel that Brooke is talking not of 'love' but lust and unrequited love. The whole poem has such a profound feeling of loneliness about it, it's created a feeling of sadness in me.
Brilliantly written by a man who died much too soon.
Von -
I love this poem, this is what love is.
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