Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke — Sonnet: "I said I splendidly loved you; it's not true"

And turn, and toss your brown delightful head Amusedly, among the ancient Dead.

Sonnet: "I said I splendidly loved you; it's not true" I said I splendidly loved you; it's not true.

Such long swift tides stir not a land-locked sea.

On gods or fools the high risk falls -- on you -- The clean clear bitter-sweet that's not for me.

Love soars from earth to ecstasies unwist.

Love is flung Lucifer-like from Heaven to Hell.

But -- there are wanderers in the middle mist, Who cry for shadows, clutch, and cannot tell Whether they love at all, or, loving, whom: An old song's lady, a fool in fancy dress, Or phantoms, or their own face on the gloom;

For love of Love, or from heart's loneliness.

Pleasure's not theirs, nor pain.

They doubt, and sigh, And do not love at all.

Of these am I.