I dreamt I was in love again <br /> With the One Before the Last, <br />And smiled to greet the pleasant pain <br /> Of that innocent young past. <br /> <br />But I jumped to feel how sharp had been <br /> The pain when it did live, <br />How the faded dreams of Nineteen-ten <br /> Were Hell in Nineteen-five. <br /> <br />The boy's woe was as keen and clear, <br /> The boy's love just as true, <br />And the One Before the Last, my dear, <br /> Hurt quite as much as you. <br /> <br /> * * * * * <br /> <br />Sickly I pondered how the lover <br /> Wrongs the unanswering tomb, <br />And sentimentalizes over <br /> What earned a better doom. <br /> <br />Gently he tombs the poor dim last time, <br /> Strews pinkish dust above, <br />And sighs, "The dear dead boyish pastime! <br /> But THIS -- ah, God! -- is Love!" <br /> <br />-- Better oblivion hide dead true loves, <br /> Better the night enfold, <br />Than men, to eke the praise of new loves, <br /> Should lie about the old! <br /> <br /> * * * * * <br /> <br />Oh! bitter thoughts I had in plenty. <br /> But here's the worst of it -- <br />I shall forget, in Nineteen-twenty, <br /> YOU ever hurt abit!<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-before-the-last-the/
