The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke

Kindliness

   When love has changed to kindliness —
   Oh, love, our hungry lips, that press
   So tight that Time's an old god's dream
   Nodding in heaven, and whisper stuff
   Seven million years were not enough
   To think on after, make it seem
   Less than the breath of children playing,
   A blasphemy scarce worth the saying,
   A sorry jest, "When love has grown
   To kindliness — to kindliness!" . . .
   And yet — the best that either's known
   Will change, and wither, and be less,
   At last, than comfort, or its own
   Remembrance.  And when some caress
   Tendered in habit (once a flame
   All heaven sang out to) wakes the shame
   Unworded, in the steady eyes
   We'll have, — THAT day, what shall we do?
   Being so noble, kill the two
   Who've reached their second-best?  Being wise,
   Break cleanly off, and get away.
   Follow down other windier skies
   New lures, alone?  Or shall we stay,
   Since this is all we've known, content
   In the lean twilight of such day,
   And not remember, not lament?
   That time when all is over, and
   Hand never flinches, brushing hand;
   And blood lies quiet, for all you're near;
   And it's but spoken words we hear,
   Where trumpets sang; when the mere skies
   Are stranger and nobler than your eyes;
   And flesh is flesh, was flame before;
   And infinite hungers leap no more
   In the chance swaying of your dress;
   And love has changed to kindliness.