Comments about Robert Crawford
Music, with the tears in it,
Through my soul is ringing,
Moods like bodies flame and flit
Through the spirit's singing;
Which no charms can capture,
Come by twos and nest and mate
In a moment's rapture.
Now I seem to be upborne
On a starry pinion
Where the poet's hope forlorn
Has divine dominion —
Where he sees the clouds of earth
Gather light and cluster,
As babes on the dawn of Birth
Watch the visions muster!
All that thought and feeling share
In a soul's possession
To my singing seems to bear
A divine ...
She was so dear, so fair. Her memory stays,
Even her dying robs me not of this,
That I have walked with her in mortal ways
Whose tender beauty now immortal is.
There are sweet flowers that bloom in ways forlorn
And sad sweet eyes whose beauty is a flower
Blown in the night to which there is no morn,
Dream-born and dying in its dewy bower;
And she was such a flower, her sweet eyes such;