George Crabbe

(24 December 1754 - 3 February 1832 / Aldeburgh, Suffulk)

George Crabbe Poems

1. Tale Xix 4/16/2010
2. The Borough. Letter Xiv: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Life Of Blaney 4/16/2010
3. The Lady Of The Manor [Next Died The Lady] 11/23/2015
4. Inebriety 4/16/2010
5. The Poor Of The Borough. Letter Xx: Ellen Orford 4/16/2010
6. Woman! 4/16/2010
7. Tale Vii 4/16/2010
8. Tale Ii 4/16/2010
9. Tale V 4/16/2010
10. The Borough. Letter Vii: Professions--Physic 4/16/2010
11. The Borough. Letter X: Clubs And Social Meetings 4/16/2010
12. Reflections 4/16/2010
13. Tale Xii 4/16/2010
14. The Mother's Funeral 4/16/2010
15. The Borough. Letter Iv: Sects And Professions In Religion 4/16/2010
16. Tale Xviii 4/16/2010
17. Tale Xx 4/16/2010
18. Tale Ix 4/16/2010
19. Tale Iv 4/16/2010
20. Tale X 4/16/2010
21. Tale Xi 4/16/2010
22. The Borough. Letter Xii: Players 4/16/2010
23. The Borough. Letter Xviii: The Poor And Their 4/16/2010
24. The Borough. Letter V: The Election 4/16/2010
25. Tale Viii 4/16/2010
26. Tale Iii 4/16/2010
27. The Borough. Letter Xxiv: Schools 4/16/2010
28. Tale Xv 4/16/2010
29. Tale Xvi 4/16/2010
30. Tale Xxi 4/16/2010
31. An English Peasant 4/16/2010
32. The Borough. Letter Ix: Amusements 4/16/2010
33. The Borough. Letter Xi: Inns 4/16/2010
34. The Borough. Letter Xiii: The Alms-House And Trustees 4/16/2010
35. The Borough. Letter Xix: The Parish-Clerk 4/16/2010
36. The Borough. Letter Viii: Trades 4/16/2010
37. The Borough. Letter Vi: Professions--Law 4/16/2010
38. The Borough. Letter Iii: The Vicar--The Curate 4/16/2010
39. The Borough. Letter Xvi: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Benlow 4/16/2010
40. The Library 4/16/2010

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Best Poem of George Crabbe

The Village: Book I

The Village Life, and every care that reigns
O'er youthful peasants and declining swains;
What labour yields, and what, that labour past,
Age, in its hour of languor, finds at last;
What form the real picture of the poor,
Demand a song--the Muse can give no more.

Fled are those times, when, in harmonious strains,
The rustic poet praised his native plains:
No shepherds now, in smooth alternate verse,
Their country's beauty or their nymphs' rehearse;
Yet still for these we frame the tender strain,
Still in our lays fond ...

Read the full of The Village: Book I


MY Damon was the first to wake
   The gentle flame that cannot die;
My Damon is the last to take
   The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
The life between is nothing worth,
   O cast it from thy thought away!
Think of the day that gave it birth,
   And this its sweet returning day.

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