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