Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke — The Busy Heart

The Busy Heart Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted, I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend.

(O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted) I'll think of Love in books, Love without end;

Women with child, content; and old men sleeping;

And wet strong ploughlands, scarred for certain grain;

And babes that weep, and so forget their weeping;

And the young heavens, forgetful after rain;

And evening hush, broken by homing wings;

And Song's nobility, and Wisdom holy, That live, we dead.

I would think of a thousand things, Lovely and durable, and taste them slowly, One after one, like tasting a sweet food.

I have need to busy my heart with quietude.