Rupert Brooke (1887–1915). Collected Poems. 1916.
II. 1908191124. Song
“O
And Triumph is his crown.
Earth fades in flame before his wings,
And Sun and Moon bow down.”—
But that, I knew, would never do;
And Heaven is all too high.
So whenever I meet a Queen, I said,
I will not catch her eye.
“The gift of Love is this; A crown of thorns about thy head, And vinegar to thy kiss!”— But Tragedy is not for me; And I’m content to be gay. So whenever I spied a Tragic Lady, I went another way. You wander down the street, Or come across the fields to me On ordinary feet. For what they’d never told me of, And what I never knew; It was that all the time, my love, Love would be merely you.