Richard Crashaw

(1612 - 1649 / England)

Richard Crashaw Poems

1. A Hymn To The Name And Honour Of The Admirable Saint Teresa 1/4/2003
2. On Mr. G. Herbert's Book, Entitled The Temple Of Sacred Poe 1/1/2004
3. Divine Epigrams: On The Baptized Ethiopian 1/1/2004
4. Divine Epigrams: Samson To His Delilah 1/1/2004
5. On The Baptized Ethiopian 4/10/2010
6. Saint Mar Magdelene; Or, The Weeper 4/10/2010
7. To Our Lord, Upon The Water Made Wine 4/10/2010
8. Divine Epigrams: On The Miracle Of The Multiplied Loaves 1/1/2004
9. Two Went Up Into The Temple To Pray 1/1/2004
10. Upon The Book And Picture Of The Seraphical Saint Teresa 1/4/2003
11. Wishes To His (Supposed) Mistress 1/13/2003
12. Upon Ford's Two Tragedies 4/10/2010
13. Samson To His Delilah 4/10/2010
14. On The Still Surviving Marks Of Our Saviour's 4/10/2010
15. On The Miracle Of The Multiplied Loaves 4/10/2010
16. On The Sepulchre Of Our Lord 4/10/2010
17. The Widow's Mites 4/10/2010
18. To The Noblest And Best Of Ladies, The Countess Of Denbigh 4/10/2010
19. On The Prodigal 4/10/2010
20. On The Water Of Our Lord's Baptism 4/10/2010
21. Euthanasia 4/10/2010
22. To The Name Above Every Name, The Name Of Jesus 1/1/2004
23. Verses From The Shepherds' Hymn 1/4/2003
24. The Recommendation 1/1/2004
25. On Marriage 4/10/2010
26. In The Holy Nativity Of Our Lord 1/1/2004
27. The Weeper 1/4/2003
28. Charitas Nimia; Or, The Dear Bargain 4/10/2010
29. Satan 4/10/2010
30. Prayer 1/1/2004
31. An Epitaph Upon Husband And Wife 1/1/2004
32. The Flaming Heart 1/1/2004
33. Christ Crucified 1/4/2003
34. A Song 1/1/2004
35. Music's Duel 4/10/2010
36. Divine Epigrams: To Our Lord, Upon The Water Made Wine 1/1/2004
37. But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light 1/1/2004

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Best Poem of Richard Crashaw

But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light

The world's light shines, shine as it will,
The world will love its darkness still.
I doubt though when the world's in hell,
It will not love its darkness half so well.

Read the full of But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light

Christ Crucified

THY restless feet now cannot go
   For us and our eternal good,
As they were ever wont. What though
   They swim, alas! in their own flood?

Thy hands to give Thou canst not lift,
   Yet will Thy hand still giving be;
It gives, but O, itself's the gift!
   It gives tho' bound, tho' bound 'tis free!

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