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Busy Heart The

 Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted,
I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend.
(O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted) I'll think of Love in books, Love without end; Women with child, content; and old men sleeping; And wet strong ploughlands, scarred for certain grain; And babes that weep, and so forget their weeping; And the young heavens, forgetful after rain; And evening hush, broken by homing wings; And Song's nobility, and Wisdom holy, That live, we dead.
I would think of a thousand things, Lovely and durable, and taste them slowly, One after one, like tasting a sweet food.
I have need to busy my heart with quietude.

by Rupert Brooke
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