Robert Graves

(1895 - 1985 / London / England)

Robert Graves Poems

121. A First Review 4/1/2010
122. When I'M Killed 1/3/2003
123. A Boy In Church 1/3/2003
124. The Naked And The Nude 1/3/2003
125. Love Without Hope 1/3/2003
126. An Old Twenty-Third Man 1/3/2003
127. She Tells Her Love 1/3/2003
128. Symptoms Of Love 1/3/2003
129. I'D Love To Be A Fairy's Child 1/3/2003
130. Allie 4/1/2010
131. A Pinch Of Salt 1/3/2003
132. An English Wood 1/3/2003
133. Down, Wanton, Down! 1/3/2003
134. Careers 1/3/2003
135. Babylon 1/3/2003
136. A Frosty Night 4/1/2010
137. Cherry-Time 1/3/2003
138. A Child's Nightmare 1/3/2003
139. 1915 1/3/2003
140. Call It A Good Marriage 1/3/2003
141. A Dead Boche 1/3/2003

Comments about Robert Graves

  • chucky (10/15/2018 2:20:00 PM)

    he is cool poet if you don't agree with me then leave

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Chuck (8/8/2018 11:03:00 AM)

    Looking for a Robert Graves poem entitled The Red Ribbon Dream. Can't find it anywhere.

  • moumin bhattacharjee (7/23/2018 11:49:00 AM)

    Robert graves write good poem

  • shak spear (3/16/2018 4:29:00 AM)

    i lik shak spear cus he good very at london

  • rosemary pitt (2/25/2018 1:28:00 AM)

    Has this been printed.?

  • anonomus (2/6/2018 3:14:00 PM)

    shake my heaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadddd

  • anonomus (2/6/2018 3:04:00 PM)


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

    I am trying to locate a poem by Robert Graves entitled Real search of meaning in a complex society. Please respond if you would to 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



Most venerable and learned sir,
Tall and true Philosopher,
These rings of smoke you blow all day
With such deep thought, what sense have they?


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