Robert Crawford

(1868 - 13 January 1930 / Australia)

Robert Crawford Poems

1. At Camelot 1/1/2004
2. Dream-Death 1/1/2004
3. Song 1/1/2004
4. A Bridal Song. 4/21/2010
5. A Mother's Loss. 4/21/2010
6. A River Isle. 4/21/2010
7. Achievement. 4/21/2010
8. Antony's Friend. 4/21/2010
9. Bereavement. 4/21/2010
10. Bigotry. 4/21/2010
11. Birth And Death. 4/21/2010
12. Cheery Old Age. 4/21/2010
13. Christian Burial. 4/21/2010
14. Cleopatra. 4/21/2010
15. Counsel In Sorrow. 4/21/2010
16. Death. 4/21/2010
17. Death. 4/21/2010
18. Death. 4/21/2010
19. Deliberation. 4/21/2010
20. Dies Irae. 4/21/2010
21. Early Summer. 4/21/2010
22. Earth Rune. 4/21/2010
23. Echo. 4/21/2010
24. Half-Views. 4/21/2010
25. Healthy Labour. 4/21/2010
26. Her Face. 4/21/2010
27. Her Glass. 4/21/2010
28. Her Grave. 4/21/2010
29. Homo Sum 4/21/2010
30. Honey-Suckles. 4/21/2010
31. Impetuosity. 4/21/2010
32. In Egypt. 4/21/2010
33. In Nineveh. 4/21/2010
34. In The Grass. 4/21/2010
35. In Verona. 4/21/2010
36. In Verona. 4/21/2010
37. Insect. 4/21/2010
38. Inspiration. 4/21/2010
39. Isolation. 4/21/2010
40. Jove. 4/21/2010
Best Poem of Robert Crawford

Morality.

Evil itself may be but good disguised,
As many a virtue now was once a vice,
Or held to be such by the moralists;
Or as even in the eyes of foreigners
Our virtues may be vices, theirs to us
As vicious too. We make us new laws still,
And hold that finable and barred to-day
That was but yesterday allowable.
Our neighbours haply no such laws enact,
And privilege what we make punitive.
So right and wrong are still conditional,
And there's no absolute morality
In all the world; for conscience herself is
Full oft but Custom's creature, whom he keeps,
Who ...

Read the full of Morality.

For Lillian

She was so dear, so fair. Her memory stays,
Even her dying robs me not of this,
That I have walked with her in mortal ways
Whose tender beauty now immortal is.
There are sweet flowers that bloom in ways forlorn
And sad sweet eyes whose beauty is a flower
Blown in the night to which there is no morn,
Dream-born and dying in its dewy bower;
And she was such a flower, her sweet eyes such;

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