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Rupert Brooke - The One Before The Last
Work rating: Medium

I dreamt I was in love again
 With the One Before the Last,
And smiled to greet the pleasant pain
 Of that innocent young past.

But I jumped to feel how sharp had been
 The pain when it did live,
How the faded dreams of Nineteen-ten
 Were Hell in Nineteen-five.

The boy`s woe was as keen and clear,
 The boy`s love just as true,
And the One Before the Last, my dear,
 Hurt quite as much as you.
                    

Sickly I pondered how the lover
 Wrongs the unanswering tomb,
And sentimentalizes over
 What earned a better doom.

Gently he tombs the poor dim last time,
 Strews pinkish dust above,
And sighs, "The dear dead boyish pastime!
 But THIS — ah, God! — is Love!"

— Better oblivion hide dead true loves,
 Better the night enfold,
Than men, to eke the praise of new loves,
 Should lie about the old!              

Oh! bitter thoughts I had in plenty.
 But here`s the worst of it —
I shall forget, in Nineteen-twenty,
 YOU ever hurt abit!
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