I like this poem, but I do think the poetry police should be called regarding his use of the word “frore.” Apparently it means “frozen” in Old English, but seriously, are we expected to know that?
Song by Rupert Brooke, 1912
All suddenly the wind comes soft,
And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green,
And my heart with buds of pain.
My heart all Winter lay so numb,
The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
Or my heart wake any more.
But Winter’s broken and earth has woken,
And the small birds cry again;
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
And my heart puts forth its pain.