The Great Lover

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Rupert Brooke – 1887-1915

I have been so great a lover: filled my days
So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise,
The pain, the calm, and the astonishment,
Desire illimitable, and still content,
And all dear names men use, to cheat despair,
For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear
Our hearts at random down the dark of life.
Now, ere the unthinking silence on that strife
Steals down, I would cheat drowsy Death so far,
My night shall be remembered for a star
That outshone all the suns of all men's days.
Shall I not crown them with immortal praise
Whom I have loved, who have given me, dared with me
High secrets, and in darkness knelt to see
The inenarrable godhead of delight?
Love is a flame:—we have beaconed the world's night.
A city:—and we have built it, these and I.
An emperor:—we have taught the world to die.
So, for their sakes I loved, ere I go hence,
And the high cause of Love's magnificence,
And to keep loyalties young, I'll write those names
Golden for ever, eagles, crying flames,
And set them as a banner, that men may know,
To dare the generations, burn, and blow
Out on the wind of Time, shining and streaming . . . .

These I have loved:
		White plates and cups, clean-gleaming,
Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust;
Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust
Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;
Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood;
And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;
And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours,
Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;
Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen
Unpassioned beauty of a great machine;
The benison of hot water; furs to touch;
The good smell of old clothes; and other such—
The comfortable smell of friendly fingers,
Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers
About dead leaves and last year's ferns. . . .
					                  Dear names,
And thousand other throng to me! Royal flames;
Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap or spring;
Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing;
Voices in laughter, too; and body's pain,
Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train;
Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam
That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home;
And washen stones, gay for an hour; the cold
Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould;
Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew;
And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new;
And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass;—
All these have been my loves. And these shall pass,
Whatever passes not, in the great hour,
Nor all my passion, all my prayers, have power
To hold them with me through the gate of Death.
They'll play deserter, turn with the traitor breath,
Break the high bond we made, and sell Love's trust
And sacramented covenant to the dust.
——Oh, never a doubt but, somewhere, I shall wake,
And give what's left of love again, and make
New friends, now strangers. . . . 
			            But the best I've known
Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown
About the winds of the world, and fades from brains
Of living men, and dies.
			            Nothing remains.

O dear my loves, O faithless, once again
This one last gift I give: that after men
Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed,
Praise you, 'All these were lovely'; say, 'He loved.'

This poem is in the public domain.

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37 thoughts on “The Great Lover”

    1. Since I already posted about the poem at length, here I’ll just repeat my love for Brooke. The whole Anglophone world was in love with this fair-haired poet right before WWI. But HIS love was “vaster passion” as Tennyson wrote. In “Now thanked be God” he welcomed the war as an antidote to “all the little emptiness of love”, meaning romantic love. “How we sighed over THAT line!” wrote Vera Britain (“Testament of Youth”): He was the great bard of the quotidian. I have always tried to emulate his polymorphic sensuality, his conscious effort to note, to salute, each humble pleasure with which our mortal days are so crowded! So blessedly besieged!
      And his end? By all accounts, a mosquito bite which turned septic. Somehow appropriate for the Minstrel of Minutiae…
      Simon, I’m so happy you liked this poem! Please, tell me about some lines you particularly liked or were struck by. 👨‍🌾

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      1. Our scholar-warriors (of both major “World Wars”) have always intrigued me. Maybe we should also awaken the philosopher-poet as we train those who’ve volunteered to make war – and possibly pitch woo – while they’re at it for us? We do it afterward, to heal the inner wounds of war; doing it prior to commencing, may inoculate them somewhat….

        Liked by 1 person

      2. How, CodeTalker, am I supposed to know what (of both major “contingencies”) means? Could I ask you to please write to me as if I were in first or at most second grade?

        Like

      5. If I’m at the desktop, edits are possible/easier. If I’m not on the desktop, I can’t edit, so subsequent replying is my go-to.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Please, tell me about some lines you particularly liked or were struck by. 👨‍🌾

    This jumped out at me, partially out of dread and thanks to a devilishly wicked page break.

    and the rough male kiss
    Of blankets;

    Liked by 2 people

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  4. This line was left me feeling a bit frustrated because it makes me doubt my own interpretation of its meaning and bit angry that Brooke did not re-work it to make it less clunky.

    …later lovers, far-removed, Praise you, ‘All these were lovely’; say, ‘He loved.’

    Liked by 1 person

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    1. ….Maybe the thoughts and feelings that poured out in the line were awkward/ ‘clunky`, and he wanted the reader/listener to feel that, as well; the urgency that leads to inelegance?

      Liked by 1 person

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      1. …he wanted the reader/listener to feel that, as well; the urgency that leads to inelegance?

        Why would he do this on purpose?

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    2. How could he have gotten so many thoughts into one line in any other way? He knows there will be kindred spirits to him, living long after he dies. He wants them to know how much the pleasures he enumerates meant to him, to,objectively recognize that they were “lovely”; and he also,wants to be recognized as having been their lover.
      Well, idk, hows this:
      “And thou,in this, shalt find thy monument/When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent.”

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  5. I enjoyed how the part below seemed to bend the poem into a completely new direction. I thought it was going to be Ovid-lite after reading the first 1/3 then this was like a sudden and welcome plot twist:

    And thousand other throng to me! Royal flames;
    Sweet water’s dimpling laugh from tap or spring;
    Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing;
    Voices in laughter, too; and body’s pain,
    Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train;
    Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam
    That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home;
    And washen stones, gay for an hour; the cold
    Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould;
    Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew;
    And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new;
    And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass;—
    All these have been my loves.

    Liked by 2 people

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    1. Earth, water, wind, (breath) fire…it never struck me before that those, the elements, are the subject of the lines you quote. But we also get pain and sleep: our constant indispensable companions in the mortal state!

      Well, congrats Simon,you’ve certainly generated a lot more interest in this great poem than my post did!

      Liked by 1 person

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      1. Your post introduced me to this great poem and the poet. I read a bit about him and especially his untimely death when you first introduced us to him. The accolades all belong to you my dear #1 Simonette.

        Liked by 1 person

  6. “and the rough male kiss
    Of blankets;”

    Does this sensation also apply to a bivvy-bag/sleeping-bag? (if I misspelled ‘bivvy’, apologies.)

    Liked by 1 person

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      1. Copy….Watched a Birthday Ball speech once, where Gen. Gray thanked Gen. Krulak for the “gift” of the bag, as compared to poncho on the ground use….This made me think of that line. And ask….

        Liked by 1 person

      3. “Why do you call it a bivvy-bag?
        Where do we find the schoolbook spelling of bivvy?”

        Just hearing the term used; having only heard it, wasn’t sure of spelling.

        Liked by 1 person

      7. “(I still like Brooke’s image, as you do.)
        Please go on.”

        Now that my next-youngest sister – retired RN – is taking on my caregiving solely for the next couple weeks, I’m concentrating on finding the love and care entwined in the routine/quotidian, including being ‘tucked-in. [smile] (I now have a group of 6 who schedule, but who, in some cases, also care for others – who’re more vulnerable than I. We’ll reevaluate on an ongoing basis.)

        Liked by 1 person

      10. I think I got that but not how it relates. Do you want to talk some more about the fantastic Certified Nurse Assistant (CNA) who would love to care for you?

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      11. It relates – in my head, anyway, to being aware of the gifts we’re given in the ordinary flow of life, that we don’t pay attention to, unless they become too rare to be ordinary, as in Brooke’s case, or the only thing one has to focus on for the next couple weeks, in my own. That was my train of thought. Admittedly, it may’ve gone off-track, but a mental meander can be fun on a bright-but-chilly Spring day.

        Liked by 1 person

      12. Nanda I’m glad to hear about your care arrangements. You were the first person I tonight of when these isolation protocols became , well, at first a suggestion, now a mandate. Guard your precious self!

        Liked by 2 people

      13. I have a very strong immune system, Hyp, despite mobility limits, but since several of those in my helping circle also help others – who vary a lot, in some instances – and can’t monitor where *else* helpers may’ve been (though they’re always careful) we decided to pull back a bit, here.

        Liked by 3 people

    1. Copy…Agree. Thanks for the reference!

      That phenomenon of the scholar-poet-warrior; is it unique to what once was the British educational system? Or was it throughout Western culture? This ability to see oneself as one in a long line of predecessors in Western culture seems to have short-circuited.

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