Robert Graves

(1895 - 1985 / London / England)

Robert Graves Poems

1. A Valentine 5/9/2015
2. Mermaid, Dragon, Fiend 8/3/2016
3. She Tells Her Love 11/21/2014
4. The Patchwork Bonnet 4/1/2010
5. The Three Drinkers 4/1/2010
6. The Promised Lullaby 4/1/2010
7. Nine O'Clock 4/1/2010
8. Morning Phœnix 4/1/2010
9. The Boy In Church 4/1/2010
10. The Boy Out Of Church 4/1/2010
11. The Picture Book 4/1/2010
12. The General Elliott 4/1/2010
13. Dicky 4/1/2010
14. Hawk And Buckle 4/1/2010
15. The God Called Poetry 4/1/2010
16. The Voice Of Beauty Drowned 4/1/2010
17. Nebuchadnezzar's Fall 4/1/2010
18. The 4/1/2010
19. Neglectful Edward 4/1/2010
20. Give Us Rain 4/1/2010
21. Manticor In Arabia 4/1/2010
22. The Cupboard 4/1/2010
23. The Kiss 3/30/2015
24. The Lost Love 4/1/2010
25. The Beacon 4/1/2010
26. Outlaws 4/1/2010
27. Sullen Moods 4/1/2010
28. Jane 4/1/2010
29. Sospan Fach 4/1/2010
30. Haunted 4/1/2010
31. Here They Lie 4/1/2010
32. It's A Queer Time 4/1/2010
33. Loving Henry 4/1/2010
34. The Pier-Glass 4/1/2010
35. Star-Talk 4/1/2010
36. Retrospect: The Jests Of The Clock 4/1/2010
37. The Patchwork Quilt 4/1/2010
38. The Spoilsport 1/3/2003
39. Tom Taylor 4/1/2010
40. Full Moon 4/1/2010
Best Poem of Robert Graves

Call It A Good Marriage

Call it a good marriage -
For no one ever questioned
Her warmth, his masculinity,
Their interlocking views;
Except one stray graphologist
Who frowned in speculation
At her h's and her s's,
His p's and w's.

Though few would still subscribe
To the monogamic axiom
That strife below the hip-bones
Need not estrange the heart,
Call it a good marriage:
More drew those two together,
Despite a lack of children,
Than pulled them apart.

Call it a good marriage:
They never fought in public,
They acted circumspectly
And faced the world ...

Read the full of Call It A Good Marriage

The Poet In The Nursery

The youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling
In a dim library, just behind the chair
From which the ancient poet was mum-mumbling
A song about some Lovers at a Fair,
Pulling his long white beard and gently grumbling
That rhymes were beastly things and never there.

And as I groped, the whole time I was thinking
About the tragic poem I’d been writing,...

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