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Short poem

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

1914 III. The Dead

              1Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
              2    There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
              3    But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
              4These laid the world away; poured out the red
              5Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
              6    Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,
              7    That men call age; and those who would have been,
              8Their sons, they gave, their immortality.

              9Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,
            10    Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain,
            11Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,
            12    And paid his subjects with a royal wage;
            13And Nobleness walks in our ways again;
            14    And we have come into our heritage.

Online text copyright © 2003, Ian Lancashire for the Department of English, University of Toronto.
Published by the Web Development Group, Information Technology Services, University of Toronto Libraries.

Original text: Rupert Brooke, "1914" Five Sonnets (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 1915). PR 6003 R4N5 1915b Robarts Library. See also Rupert Brooke, 1914 & Other Poems (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 1915): 13. PR 6003 R4N5 Robarts Library.
First publication date: 1915
Publication date note: New Numbers (1915)
RPO poem editor: Ian Lancashire
RP edition: RPO 1999.
Recent editing: 2:2001/11/15

Composition date: 1914
Form: sonnet
Rhyme: abbacddc efegfg

Other poems by Rupert Brooke