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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=511212" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Busy Heart, The</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=511212" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted,<br> I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend.<br>(O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted)<br> I'll think of Love in books, Love without end;<br>Women with child, content; and old men sleeping;<br> And wet strong ploughlands, scarred for certain grain;<br>And babes that weep, and so forget their weeping;<br> And the young heavens, forgetful after rain;<br>And evening hush, broken by homing wings;<br> And Song's nobility, and Wisdom holy,<br>That live, we dead. I would think of a thousand things,<br> Lovely and durable, and taste them slowly,<br>One after one, like tasting a sweet food.<br>I have need to busy my heart with quietude.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Rupert+Brooke">Rupert Brooke</a></strong></div>

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