Robert Graves

(1895 - 1985 / London / England)

Robert Graves Poems

41. Ghost Raddled 4/1/2010
42. Fox's Dingle 4/1/2010
43. Song: One Hard Look 4/1/2010
44. I Wonder What It Feels Like To Be Drowned? 1/3/2003
45. Country At War 4/1/2010
46. The Bough Of Nonsense 1/3/2003
47. Pot And Kettle 4/1/2010
48. Recalling War 4/1/2010
49. Full Moon 4/1/2010
50. Faun 1/3/2003
51. Knowledge Of God 4/1/2010
52. Vain And Careless 4/1/2010
53. The Lady Visitor In The Pauper Ward 1/3/2003
54. True Johnny 4/1/2010
55. Jonah 1/3/2003
56. The Dead Fox Hunter 4/1/2010
57. The Snapped Thread 1/3/2003
58. John Skelton 1/3/2003
59. Cherry-Time 4/1/2010
60. Hate Not - Fear Not 4/1/2010
61. Thunder At Night 4/1/2010
62. The Poet In The Nursery 1/3/2003
63. Flying Crooked 4/1/2010
64. The Travellers' Curse After Misdirection 1/3/2003
65. The Troll's Nosegay 1/3/2003
66. Mr. Philosopher 1/3/2003
67. Sorley’s Weather 1/3/2003
68. A Song For Two Children 4/1/2010
69. Smoke-Rings 1/3/2003
70. Brittle Bones 4/1/2010
71. The White Goddess 4/1/2010
72. 1805 4/1/2010
73. Marigolds 1/3/2003
74. The Persian Version 1/3/2003
75. The Frog And The Golden Ball 1/3/2003
76. The Leveller 4/1/2010
77. The Caterpillar 1/3/2003
78. The Last Post 1/3/2003
79. The Cool Web 1/3/2003
80. Strong Beer 1/3/2003

Comments about Robert Graves

  • shak spear (3/16/2018 4:29:00 AM)

    i lik shak spear cus he good very at london

    3 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • rosemary pitt (2/25/2018 1:28:00 AM)

    Has this been printed.?

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  • peter gisla (1/24/2018 1:22:00 PM)

    I am trying to locate a poem by Robert Graves entitled Real Women.....in search of meaning in a complex society. Please respond if you would to petergisla333@yahoo.com Thank You....Peter

  • Kuldeep Kumar Singh (12/2/2017 8:05:00 PM)

    Chander pur bawliya.

Best Poem of Robert Graves

A Dead Boche

To you who'd read my songs of War
And only hear of blood and fame,
I'll say (you've heard it said before)
"War's Hell! " and if you doubt the same,
Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood:

Where, propped against a shattered trunk,
In a great mess of things unclean,
Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk
With clothes and face a sodden green,
Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired,
Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.

Read the full of A Dead Boche

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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