Song #10.

The dew fell on her upturned brow
That is as white's the lily;
The moonlight in her yellow hair,
In her hand a daffodilly;
The violet's perfume in her breath,
Her cheeks like roses grew,
And as I prest her milky hand
I murmured, 'I love you!'
She looked at me with eyes that shone
Like stars among the roses,
While my heart like a dream-bird sang
Quick in the dewy closes;
And with a tone that sweetly thrill'd
The while I held her hand,
She whispered, 'I have loved you long,
And now I understand.'

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Rondel.

The mist is in the town to-night,
And all the streets are dumb and drear;
The passers-by as ghosts appear,
Or things whose souls have taken flight
As they drift by in the weird light,
Each on its shadowy career —
The mist is in the town to-night,
And all the streets are dumb and drear.
A dead town were less sad a sight
With its dead men and women here,
So one might see them passing near
Beyond the death of love's delight!
The mist is in the town to-night,
And all the streets are dumb and drear.

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Of Woman's Love.

Of all the loves the heart can hold
The love of woman's first;
It was this one love that we had
Or e'er the world was cursed.
Then other loves — our passions — threw
Their shadows on the brain,
And like ill weeds they grew and grew
Amid the golden grain.
Ah! woman's love's the one thing true
In a world of lures and lies,
As if it were man's heaven that had
Survived his paradise!
Our other loves are but the dross
That to the soul must cling
Till we've forgot life's every loss
In Love's remembering.

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Spirit Fear.

I look with half unfriendly eyes
Into the casual eyes I meet,
As if my spirit feared surprise,
Dim-memoried with some old defeat.
In a far life it may be, when
It breathed in a monastic cell,
And found a fallacy in men
More sad than any tongue can tell
Or flashing in a warrior's fame
A sword for friendship fiercely drew
But turned to dust an honored name
And made life's mead a bitter brew.
And still like an ancestral stain
The memory on the spirit lies,
And still it fears to meet again
The light of those accusing eyes

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Glove Of The Live Lady.

Her glove! It was rare Ben who sung it,
That best of gloves of the lady dead!
Another's here, as one had flung it
In anger at her lover's head.
Was it but this that it was made for,
One of a pair perhaps he'd paid for,
To have it favored in this fashion?
But gloves are gloves, and passion's passion!
And he, it may be, liked her better
For her rich anger as she threw it:
'Twas worth a glove to so upset her
And know he had the power to do it,
So he might kiss the white hands after
Her passion turned to tears and laughter!

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Falling Stars.

Only a falling star!
What was it to him
If millions of mortals were
Hurled down the dim
Dark void to the abyss?
His world was this.
Only a falling star!
The Earth was sure
To outlive him at least:
Whatever were
Their fates who yonder passed,
His star would last!
Only a falling star!
What if some day
The Earth, as in a flash,
Too, passed away,
Would, say, a Mars-man sigh
As we flamed by?
Only a world gone out
With all its care —

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Lyric Rose.

What other work in the world have I
Than but to sing my song, and die?
No other work of hate or love
For hell below or heaven above!
As if it were the one thing true
For me, whatever others do,
My days and nights to this tune set
As Romeo to Juliet,
I put all else within time by;
For this do live — for this would die,
If that but haply on my tomb
A lyric rose should bud and bloom,
The which some passer-by might swear
Was precious in its beauty there,
And, kneeling, might a petal take
And love it for the Singer's sake!
A Girl's Desire.

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Poem.

These bones have life, and this heart knows
The poem that this hand has writ
The wind of God within it blows,
The light of God, too, shines in it.
Gather the words as sands, and cast
Them in the silence of the sphere,
The imaginary sound shall last
Till thought grows deaf to all things here
Ay! then regather, word by word,
The wonder of the mystic pen,
And ye shall hear a lonely bird
Singing within the hearts of men.
A form, a color, light and air,
'Tis like the soul — a phantasy
Which men may picture anywhere
Till God becomes a memory!

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Bond.

Love me for Love's sake till the dream is done,
And when we waken let us part for aye!
No bond but this; it is the better way,
For life spun so may easy be unspun,
The gain or loss directly reckoned on
What is and was; since marriage is no more
When either heart is like a sapless core
That has no sense of the maturing sun.
All comes at last to this, and surely we
Shall never waken if the dream is true,
Never put by the heart's reality,
Nor either ever find another who
Shall take from us the tender poesy
Which you have found in me, and I in you.

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

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!

poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!