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Rupert Brooke - Mummia
Work rating: Low

As those of old drank mummia
 To fire their limbs of lead,
Making dead kings from Africa
 Stand pandar to their bed;

Drunk on the dead, and medicined
 With spiced imperial dust,
In a short night they reeled to find
 Ten centuries of lust.

So I, from paint, stone, tale, and rhyme,
 Stuffed love`s infinity,
And sucked all lovers of all time
 To rarify ecstasy.

Helen`s the hair shuts out from me
 Verona`s livid skies;
Gypsy the lips I press; and see
 Two Antonys in your eyes.

The unheard invisible lovely dead
 Lie with us in this place,
And ghostly hands above my head
 Close face to straining face;

Their blood is wine along our limbs;
 Their whispering voices wreathe
Savage forgotten drowsy hymns
 Under the names we breathe;

Woven from their tomb, and one with it,
 The night wherein we press;
Their thousand pitchy pyres have lit
 Your flaming nakedness.

For the uttermost years have cried and clung
 To kiss your mouth to mine;
And hair long dust was caught, was flung,
 Hand shaken to hand divine,

And Life has fired, and Death not shaded,
 All Time`s uncounted bliss,
And the height o` the world has flamed and faded,
 Love, that our love be this!
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