Welcome to Poetry.com

Poetry.com is a huge collection of poems from famous and amateur poets from around the world — collaboratively published by a community of authors and contributing editors.

Navigate through our poetry database by subjects, alphabetically or simply search by keywords. You can submit a new poem, discuss and rate existing work, listen to poems using voice pronunciation and even translate pieces to many common and not-so-common languages.

Lines Written In The Belief That The Ancient Roman Festival Of The Dead Was Called Ambarvalia

Rupert Brooke 1887 (Rugby) – 1915 (Aegean Sea)

Swings the way still by hollow and hill,
 And all the world's a song;
"She's far," it sings me, "but fair," it rings me,
 "Quiet," it laughs, "and strong!"

Oh! spite of the miles and years between us,
 Spite of your chosen part,
I do remember; and I go
 With laughter in my heart.

So above the little folk that know not,
 Out of the white hill-town,
High up I clamber; and I remember;
 And watch the day go down.

Gold is my heart, and the world's golden,
 And one peak tipped with light;
And the air lies still about the hill
 With the first fear of night;

Till mystery down the soundless valley
 Thunders, and dark is here;
And the wind blows, and the light goes,
 And the night is full of fear,

And I know, one night, on some far height,
 In the tongue I never knew,
I yet shall hear the tidings clear
 From them that were friends of you.

They'll call the news from hill to hill,
 Dark and uncomforted,
Earth and sky and the winds; and I
 Shall know that you are dead.

I shall not hear your trentals,
 Nor eat your arval bread;
For the kin of you will surely do
 Their duty by the dead.

Their little dull greasy eyes will water;
 They'll paw you, and gulp afresh.
They'll sniffle and weep, and their thoughts will creep
 Like flies on the cold flesh.

They will put pence on your grey eyes,
 Bind up your fallen chin,
And lay you straight, the fools that loved you
 Because they were your kin.

They will praise all the bad about you,
 And hush the good away,
And wonder how they'll do without you,
 And then they'll go away.

But quieter than one sleeping,
 And stranger than of old,
You will not stir for weeping,
 You will not mind the cold;

But through the night the lips will laugh not,
 The hands will be in place,
And at length the hair be lying still
 About the quiet face.

With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
 And dim and decorous mirth,
With ham and sherry, they'll meet to bury
 The lordliest lass of earth.

The little dead hearts will tramp ungrieving
 Behind lone-riding you,
The heart so high, the heart so living,
 Heart that they never knew.

I shall not hear your trentals,
 Nor eat your arval bread,
Nor with smug breath tell lies of death
 To the unanswering dead.

With snuffle and sniff and handkerchief,
 The folk who loved you not
Will bury you, and go wondering
 Back home. And you will rot.

But laughing and half-way up to heaven,
 With wind and hill and star,
I yet shall keep, before I sleep,
 Your Ambarvalia.

Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)
Font size:
Collection  Edit     

Submitted on May 13, 2011

2:20 min read

Rupert Brooke

Rupert Chawner Brooke was an English poet known for his idealistic war sonnets written during the First World War, especially "The Soldier". more…

All Rupert Brooke poems | Rupert Brooke Books

FAVORITE (0 fans)

Discuss this Rupert Brooke poem with the community:



    Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

    Select another language:

    • - Select -
    • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
    • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
    • Español (Spanish)
    • Esperanto (Esperanto)
    • 日本語 (Japanese)
    • Português (Portuguese)
    • Deutsch (German)
    • العربية (Arabic)
    • Français (French)
    • Русский (Russian)
    • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
    • 한국어 (Korean)
    • עברית (Hebrew)
    • Gaeilge (Irish)
    • Українська (Ukrainian)
    • اردو (Urdu)
    • Magyar (Hungarian)
    • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
    • Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Italiano (Italian)
    • தமிழ் (Tamil)
    • Türkçe (Turkish)
    • తెలుగు (Telugu)
    • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
    • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
    • Čeština (Czech)
    • Polski (Polish)
    • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Românește (Romanian)
    • Nederlands (Dutch)
    • Ελληνικά (Greek)
    • Latinum (Latin)
    • Svenska (Swedish)
    • Dansk (Danish)
    • Suomi (Finnish)
    • فارسی (Persian)
    • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
    • հայերեն (Armenian)
    • Norsk (Norwegian)
    • English (English)


    Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:


    "Lines Written In The Belief That The Ancient Roman Festival Of The Dead Was Called Ambarvalia" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 14 Apr. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/33699/lines-written-in-the-belief-that-the-ancient-roman-festival-of-the-dead-was-called-ambarvalia>.

    We need you!

    Help us build the largest poetry community and poems collection on the web!

    Browse Poetry.com


    Are you a poetry master?

    Who wrote the poem "Love After Love"?
    • A. Robert Burns
    • B. William Shakespeare
    • C. Rabindranath Tagore
    • D. Derek Walcott

    Our favorite collection of

    Famous Poets


    Thanks for your vote! We truly appreciate your support.