Rupert Brooke (1887–1915). Collected Poems. 1916.
II. 190819116. Mummia
A
To fire their limbs of lead,
Making dead kings from Africa
Stand pandar to their bed;
With spiced imperial dust, In a short night they reeled to find Ten centuries of lust. Stuffed love’s infinity, And sucked all lovers of all time To rarify ecstasy. Verona’s livid skies; Gypsy the lips I press; and see Two Antonys in your eyes. Lie with us in this place, And ghostly hands above my head Close face to straining face; Their whispering voices wreathe Savage forgotten drowsy hymns Under the names we breathe; The night wherein we press; Their thousand pitchy pyres have lit Your flaming nakedness. To kiss your mouth to mine; And hair long dust was caught, was flung, Hand shaken to hand divine, All Time’s uncounted bliss, And the height o’ the world has flamed and faded, Love, that our love be this!