Rupert Brooke

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.
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