Monday, May 4, 2009

‘The Old Vicarage, Grantchester’

‘The Old Vicarage, Grantchester’ by Rupert Brooke - Last verse

Ah God! to see the branches stir
Across the moon at Grantchester!
To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten
Unforgettable, unforgotten
River-smell, and hear the breeze
Sobbing in the little trees.
Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand
Still guardians of that holy land?
The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream,
The yet unacademic stream?
Is dawn a secret shy and cold
Anadyomene, silver-gold?
And sunset still a golden sea
From Haslingfield to Madingley?
And after, ere the night is born,
Do hares come out about the corn?
Oh, is the water sweet and cool,
Gentle and brown, above the pool?
And laughs the immortal river still
Under the mill, under the mill?
Say, is there Beauty yet to find?
And Certainty? and Quiet kind?
Deep meadows yet, for to forget
The lies, and truths, and pain? . . . oh! yet
Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?

1 comment:

DRW said...

Was wondering if you knew Rupert Brooke. Just received my 1916 leather bound Collected Poems of.
Such a joy to read in original form.
Shall be in Grantchester in June, at the Tea Garden. An idyll; without going back a century we can create our own with literary and garden pursuits. Inspired by Brooke, have started writing a book with him at the centre, and the G Group, part of the periphery. Lovely that you put a bit of Rupert out, to ensnare more folk with his magic. Gone so long now yet vital as breath
when you read his poems and letters..