| Rupert Brooke (1887–1915). Collected Poems. 1916. |
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| V. The South Seas |
| 7. He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her |
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| I HAVE peace to weigh your worth, now all is over, | |
| But if to praise or blame you, cannot say. | |
| For, who decries the loved, decries the lover; | |
| Yet what man lauds the thing he’s thrown away? | |
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| Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught, | 5 |
| The more fool I, so great a fool to adore; | |
| But if you’re that high goddess once I thought, | |
| The more your godhead is, I lose the more. | |
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| Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever! | |
| Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you! | 10 |
| Most fair,—the blind has lost your face for ever! | |
| Most foul,—how could I see you while I kissed you? | |
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| So… the poor love of fools and blind I’ve proved you, | |
| For, foul or lovely, ’twas a fool that loved you. | |
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