Chapter 31
THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH THRENADY by Rupert Brooke read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson The day that youth had died, there came to his grave-side in decent mourning from the country's ends those scattered friends who had lived the boon companions of his prime, and laughed with him, and sung with him, and wasted, and feasted in wine and many crowned carouse.
The days and nights and donnings of the time when youth kept open house, nor left untasted aught of his high-emprised and ventures dear, no quest of his unshared, all these with loitering feet and sad head bared, followed their old friend's beer. Folly went first, with muffled bells and coxcomb still reversed, and after trod the bearer's hat in hand. Laughter most hoarse and captain pride with tanned and martial face all grim,
and fussy joy, who had to catch a train, and lust, poor sniveling boy. These bore the dear departed, behind them broken-hearted. Came grief, so noisy a widow that all said, had he but wed her elder sister's sorrow in her stead. And by her, trying to soothe her all the time, the fatherless children, Color, tune, and rhyme, the sweet lad rhyme, ran all uncomprehending then at the way's sad ending.
Round the raw grave they stayed, old wisdom red in mumbling tone the service for the dead. There stood Romance, the furrowing tears had marked her roughed cheek. Poor old conceit his wonder unassuaged, dead innocence his daughter ignorance, all shabby ill-dressed generosity, an argument too full of woe to speak. Passion grown portly something middle-aged, and friendship not a minute older she.
Impatience, ever taking out his watch, Faith who was deaf and had to listen to catch old wisdom's endless drone. Beauty was there, pale in her black, dry-eyed she stood alone. Poor mazed imagination, fancy wild, ardor the sunlight on his graying hair. Contentment who had known youth as a child, and never seen him since. And Spring came too, dancing over the tombs, and brought him flowers she did not stay for long.
And Truth and Grace and all the merry crew, the laughing winds and rivers and life-hours, and hope the dewy-eyed, the sorrowing song. Yes, with much woe and mourning general, at dead youth's funeral. Even these were met once more together all, who erst the fair and living youth did know. All except only Love. Love had died long ago.
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