Unfortunate
by Rupert Brooke
Heart, you are as restless as a paper scrap
That’s tossed down dusty pavements by the wind ;
Saying, ‘She is most wise, patient and kind.
Between the small hands folded in her lap
Surely a shamed head may bow down at length,
And find forgiveness where the shadows stir
About her lips, and wisdom in her strength,
Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her !’ …She will not care. She’ll smile to see me come,
So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.
She’ll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,
And open wide upon that holy air
The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,
Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.
One response to “Unfortunate”
Rupert Brooke is in my pantheon of poets, though I wouldn’t consider this his strongest poem. I just wanted to post it because of the superficial sympathies with Swinburne’s “A Leave-Taking”. Like the Dowson poem, this one isn’t quite driving at the same thing as Swinburne’s poem, but it kept popping into my head during the discussion this evening. Quite distracting, really.