Robert Crawford

(1868 - 13 January 1930 / Australia)

Robert Crawford Poems

121. Life's Offices. 4/21/2010
122. Song #12. 4/21/2010
123. Religion. 4/21/2010
124. Natural Magic. 4/21/2010
125. Ghosts. 4/21/2010
126. Impetuosity. 4/21/2010
127. Night-Bound. 4/21/2010
128. Shakespeare? 4/21/2010
129. Song #10. 4/21/2010
130. Jove. 4/21/2010
131. In Verona. 4/21/2010
132. Love #3. 4/21/2010
133. Madrigal. 4/21/2010
134. Mind. 4/21/2010
135. The Glove Of The Live Lady. 4/21/2010
136. The Lyric Rose. 4/21/2010
137. The Finer Spirit. 4/21/2010
138. The Charm. 4/21/2010
139. Life And Death. 4/21/2010
140. Good And Evil. 4/21/2010
141. True Love. 4/21/2010
142. Song #7. 4/21/2010
143. The Orator. 4/21/2010
144. The Poet's Hope. 4/21/2010
145. Love #1. 4/21/2010
146. Of Woman's Love. 4/21/2010
147. Song #14. 4/21/2010
148. Linnet-Like. 4/21/2010
149. In Nineveh. 4/21/2010
150. The Poet's Songs. 4/21/2010
151. Truth. 4/21/2010
152. Madrigal #2. 4/21/2010
153. Charon. 4/21/2010
154. Spirit Fear. 4/21/2010
155. The Sundowner. 4/21/2010
156. Song 1/1/2004
157. Patriotism. 4/21/2010
158. God's Rest. 4/21/2010
159. Song #5. 4/21/2010
160. Urania's Lover. 4/21/2010

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Best Poem of Robert Crawford

A Song Of The Sea.

Here within the half-light 'tween the night and day
Upon the sands I lie, with thoughts that idly stirr'd
Seem, as in a dream, with life and death to play,
As o'er the sea there flits a pale white bird.
In my heart I hear it, the murmur of the sea,
Ah! and memories of other lives are stirr'd,
As somewise there came a mystic voice to me
As o'er the sea there flits a pale white bird.
Who but knows that in me is a ghost that hears
A voice it heard of old in the primeval word —
A memory so dim, it like a dream appears
As o'er the sea there flits a pale white bird!

Read the full of A Song Of The Sea.

Dream-Death

There is a breath at midnight that comes in
Sad as a sigh, for then the day is dead
And the young morrow doth his course begin,
Sowing new dreams in many a dreamer's head.
And there are two have waked in one dark bed
Just as the last stroke fades in lonely air,
And having whispered, half-awake, have sped
With silent feet into sleep's poppied lair.
She with the morning wakes, but he is gone;

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