Produced by Al Haines. *Selected Poems* *by Rupert Brooke* London Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd. 3 Adam St., W.C. 1922 First Edition, March 1917 Second Impression, April 1917 Third Impression, May 1918 Fourth Impression, February 1919 Fifth Impression, January 1920 Sixth Impression, January 1922 All rights reserved *Contents* Day that I have Loved On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess Second Best The Hill Sonnet ("Oh! Death will find me") Dust Song Kindliness The Voice Menelaus and Helen The Jolly Company Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body Town and Country The Fish Dining-room Tea The Old Vicarage, Grantchester The Funeral of Youth Beauty and Beauty The Chilterns Love The Busy Heart He Wonders Whether to Praise or Blame Her Hauntings One Day Sonnet (_Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research_) Clouds Mutability Heaven Tiare Tahiti Retrospect The Great Lover The Treasure 1914: I. Peace II. Safety III. The Dead IV. The Dead V. The Soldier *Day that I have Loved* Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes, And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands. The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies. I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands, Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea’s making Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned. There you’ll be laid, past fear of sleep or hope of waking; And over the unmoving sea, without a sound, Faint hands will row you outward, out beyond our sight, Us with stretched arms and empty eyes on the far-gleaming And marble sand.... Beyond the shifting cold twilight, Further than laughter goes, or tears, further than dreaming, There’ll be no port, no dawn-lit islands! But the drear Waste darkening, and, at length, flame ultimate on the deep. Oh, the last fire—and you, unkissed, unfriended there! Oh, the lone way’s red ending, and we not there to weep! (We found you pale and quiet, and strangely crowned with flowers, Lovely and secret as a child. You came with us, Came happily, hand in hand with the young dancing hours, High on the downs at dawn!) Void now and tenebrous, The grey sands curve before me.... From the inland meadows, Fragrant of June and clover, floats the dark and fills The hollow sea’s dead face with little creeping shadows, And the white silence brims the hollow of the hills.