Robert Crawford Poems

We whom to-night Love keeps awake
For his own joy, may one day break
Our fast in some Lethéan cave,
When we but a faint memory have,
...

I might not have it then — I might not, yet
She was so near to me, could I forget
She might be nearer? There was in her eyes —
...

I in the autumn of my days
Stand by a place of tears,
And hear the unborn children weep
Within the unborn years;
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As the crinoid star-fish to the sea-base
By his stem fixed draws bare subsistence in
His straitened sphere, as in the sunless ooze
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Time grows upon us until we exhaust
Hope's possibilities, and then we die
Who thus of life each make a holocaust
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I have the man's-heart in me, and 'tis noble
To be alive, to think, to feel, to have
My part in all the precious come-and-go
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The sky grows white with the moon,
And the sea yearns up to the night
As the soul to an unknown height,
Drawn thence by a starry rune.
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Within time's stress, amid the facts of life,
Not in monastic solitudes, we find
A way to that is higher than ourselves.
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Life is up and takes the morning;
Why should love still lie abed?
Lo! the charms of slumber scorning,
Tramps the troop that must be led.
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The sun is set, and all the stars are come,
Stars I shall no more see; the air is still,
And my life waits the ruin so near now.
...