| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Peace | | By Rupert Brooke |
| | From “Nineteen-Fourteen”
NOW, God be thanked who has matched us with his hour, | |
| And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping! | |
| With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, | |
| To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping, | |
| Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary; | 5 |
| Leave the sick hearts that honor could not move, | |
| And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary, | |
| And all the little emptiness of love! | |
| Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there, | |
| Where there’s no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending, | 10 |
| Naught broken save this body, lost but breath; | |
| Nothing to shake the laughing heart’s long peace there, | |
| But only agony, and that has ending; | |
| And the worst friend and enemy is but Death. | | | | |
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