Linnet-Like.
The joy of God gets into us, and we
Hum with the intuition of His power;
Even as a linnet, like a thing inspired,
Throats his love-lyrics in the dewy leaves.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Achievement.
In life's exigencies men have been known
To pass themselves, and to attain to more
Than hope; as if in combat with the gods
The god in them secured supremacy.
poem by Robert Crawford
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A Mother's Loss.
When I did name her little lost one, she
Brushed from her eyes the precious drops of love,
As if her memory with his sweet name shaken
Trembled, and shed its dew.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Maiden Lips.
O Sweet, thy lips, how sweet their kisses are!
Rarer than rosy dewdrops amorous
That in the lily's tender bosom fall,
So magical with beauty they so breathe of thee.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Blind Reader.
His blindness lends a magic to his fingers,
As if his seeing subtlety were sensed
In them, and his wits left his eyes to work
In the nimble digits as they read for him.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Bereavement.
The little feet have left the house,
The little voice is still:
Without, the wan wind-weary boughs;
Within, the will
To go and hear the wee feet tread
Within the garden of the dead.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Song
LOVE, love me only,
Love me for ever;
My life’s been lonely,
A joyless endeavour.
Though earth were heaven,
I in it for ever,
Of thee bereaven—
I’d love again never.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Poet's Hope.
The wild hope of the poet finds a home
In the immaterial, as he clothes himself
In visionary raiment far off, where
The echoes of eternity are heard
And the immortal entities appear.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Song #14.
Two words or three
The bird sings in the tree:
My love was all to me
When life was young.
I lie within the green:
There is not heard or seen
The light of what has been,
The song that's sung.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Poet And Priest.
The poet's born, the priest is made: at last
Shall come a day when all men at the shrine
Of poesy shall pay their vows, and know
The oracles of Nature are divine,
And but the inspired have authority.
poem by Robert Crawford
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