Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
Rupert BrookeStore up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.
Rupert BrookeBreathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
Rupert Brooke