by Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915)
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich...
Language: English
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age; and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality. Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth, Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain. Honour has come back, as a king, to earth, And paid his subjects with a royal wage; And Nobleness walks in our ways again; And we have come into our heritage.
About the headline (FAQ)
First published in New Numbers, December 1914Authorship:
- by Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915), "The dead", appears in 1914, no. 3 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Frank Bridge (1879 - 1941), "Blow out, you bugles", 1918, published 1919 [ high voice and orchestra or piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
- by Alan Gray (1855 - 1935), "The dead", published <<1967 [ SATB chorus and organ ], from 1914, no. 3 [sung text not yet checked]
- by John (Nicholson) Ireland (1879 - 1962), "Blow out, you bugles", 1917-8, published 1918 [ voice and piano ], from Two Songs, no. 2 [sung text checked 1 time]
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 14
Word count: 118