Robert Graves

(1895 - 1985 / London / England)

Robert Graves Poems

121. Lost Love 1/3/2003
122. Warning To Children 1/3/2003
123. In Broken Images 1/3/2003
124. Love Without Hope 1/3/2003
125. She Tells Her Love 1/3/2003
126. Careers 1/3/2003
127. The Naked And The Nude 1/3/2003
128. An Old Twenty-Third Man 1/3/2003
129. When I'M Killed 1/3/2003
130. A Boy In Church 1/3/2003
131. Symptoms Of Love 1/3/2003
132. A Pinch Of Salt 1/3/2003
133. I'D Love To Be A Fairy's Child 1/3/2003
134. An English Wood 1/3/2003
135. Cherry-Time 1/3/2003
136. Babylon 1/3/2003
137. Down, Wanton, Down! 1/3/2003
138. 1915 1/3/2003
139. A Child's Nightmare 1/3/2003
140. Call It A Good Marriage 1/3/2003
141. A Dead Boche 1/3/2003
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

Not To Sleep

Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy,
Counting no sheep and careless of chimes
Welcoming the dawn confabulation
Of birch, her children, who discuss idly
Fanciful details of the promised coming -
Will she be wearing red, or russet, or blue,
Or pure white? - whatever she wears, glorious:
Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy,
This is given to few but at last to me,

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