I saw the pines against the white north sky,
Very beautiful, and still, and bending over
Their sharp black heads against a quiet sky
And there was peace in them....
Not long ago I asked a poet in whose judgment I have a profound belief, to read these poems of Rupert Brooke’s and give me his opinion. After looking at two or three he said he was afraid he wasn’t going to like them, but the next day he reported that he wished to retract, making the magnificent concession that “some of Brooke’s moods are healthy!” Of course there are a number of things in this volume that can easily be interpreted as unhealthy or repulsive, like the Wagner:
Creeps in half wanton, half asleep,
One with a fat wide hairless face.
He likes love music that is cheap;
Likes women in a crowded place;
And wants to hear the noise they’re making.