Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke — Paralysis

Paralysis For moveless limbs no pity I crave, That never were swift!

Still all I prize, Laughter and thought and friends, I have;

No fool to heave luxurious sighs For the woods and hills that I never knew.

The more excellent way's yet mine!

And you Flower-laden come to the clean white cell, And we talk as ever -- am I not the same?

With our hearts we love, immutable, You without pity, I without shame.

We talk as of old; as of old you go Out under the sky, and laughing, I know, Flit through the streets, your heart all me;

Till you gain the world beyond the town.

Then -- I fade from your heart, quietly;

And your fleet steps quicken.

The strong down Smiles you welcome there; the woods that love you Close lovely and conquering arms above you.

O ever-moving, O lithe and free!

Fast in my linen prison I press On impassable bars, or emptily Laugh in my great loneliness.

And still in the white neat bed I strive Most impotently against that gyve;

Being less now than a thought, even, To you alone with your hills and heaven.

Menelaus and Helen