Robert Graves

(1895 - 1985 / London / England)

Robert Graves Poems

1. A Valentine 5/9/2015
2. She Tells Her Love 11/21/2014
3. The Kiss 3/30/2015
4. The Patchwork Bonnet 4/1/2010
5. The Three Drinkers 4/1/2010
6. The Promised Lullaby 4/1/2010
7. Morning Phœnix 4/1/2010
8. Nine O'Clock 4/1/2010
9. The God Called Poetry 4/1/2010
10. The Boy In Church 4/1/2010
11. The Boy Out Of Church 4/1/2010
12. The Picture Book 4/1/2010
13. Jane 4/1/2010
14. Retrospect: The Jests Of The Clock 4/1/2010
15. Manticor In Arabia 4/1/2010
16. Dicky 4/1/2010
17. Hawk And Buckle 4/1/2010
18. The Cupboard 4/1/2010
19. The General Elliott 4/1/2010
20. The Lost Love 4/1/2010
21. Fox's Dingle 4/1/2010
22. Loving Henry 4/1/2010
23. Nebuchadnezzar's Fall 4/1/2010
24. The 4/1/2010
25. Neglectful Edward 4/1/2010
26. Give Us Rain 4/1/2010
27. Ghost Raddled 4/1/2010
28. The Pier-Glass 4/1/2010
29. The Patchwork Quilt 4/1/2010
30. Song: One Hard Look 4/1/2010
31. The Beacon 4/1/2010
32. Outlaws 4/1/2010
33. Sullen Moods 4/1/2010
34. Sospan Fach 4/1/2010
35. Haunted 4/1/2010
36. Star-Talk 4/1/2010
37. Rocky Acres 4/1/2010
38. The Voice Of Beauty Drowned 4/1/2010
39. The Spoilsport 1/3/2003
40. Tom Taylor 4/1/2010
Best Poem of Robert Graves

Call It A Good Marriage

Call it a good marriage -
For no one ever questioned
Her warmth, his masculinity,
Their interlocking views;
Except one stray graphologist
Who frowned in speculation
At her h's and her s's,
His p's and w's.

Though few would still subscribe
To the monogamic axiom
That strife below the hip-bones
Need not estrange the heart,
Call it a good marriage:
More drew those two together,
Despite a lack of children,
Than pulled them apart.

Call it a good marriage:
They never fought in public,
They acted circumspectly
And faced the world ...

Read the full of Call It A Good Marriage

The Poet In The Nursery

The youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling
In a dim library, just behind the chair
From which the ancient poet was mum-mumbling
A song about some Lovers at a Fair,
Pulling his long white beard and gently grumbling
That rhymes were beastly things and never there.

And as I groped, the whole time I was thinking
About the tragic poem I’d been writing,...

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