Page:Collected poems of Rupert Brooke.djvu/148

 THE CHILTERNS

Your hands, my dear, adorable,

Your lips of tenderness

—Oh, I've loved you faithfully and well,

Three years, or a bit less.

It wasn't a success.

Thank God, that's done! and I'll take the road,

Quit of my youth and you,

The Roman road to Wendover

By Tring and Lilley Hoo,

As a free man may do.

For youth goes over, the joys that fly,

The tears that follow fast;

And the dirtiest things we do must lie

Forgotten at the last;

Even Love goes past.

What's left behind I shall not find,

The splendour and the pain;

The splash of sun, the shouting wind,

And the brave sting of rain,

I may not meet again.

But the years, that take the best away,

Give something in the end;

And a better friend than love have they,

For none to mar or mend,

That have themselves to friend.