Robert Crawford Poems

There are some things in life are very poor,
And some unpriceable: our wisdom is
To know our rubbish and our riches here;
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I can believe it, that we each do have
One opportunity, and on it hangs
It may be all.
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They sang, that were the young world's gleaners,
Like birds on a bough,
Reaping the first-fruits of love's sowing;
The reapers now
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O poet, thou art called to tread her ways,
Hers, mistress of the soul, Urania fair.
(Ah God! how fair, how all adorable,
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Never remember what love's been,
That is the sorrow the world knows;
Forget it, or the heart too keen
Will ache and ache to the weary close
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I saw God in a dream go by,
As if He trod the phantom air
Within a hushed eternity,
Dead worlds around Him everywhere.
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We die for home and country; dying thus,
The welfare of our land shall live with us.
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LOVE, love me only,
Love me for ever;
My life’s been lonely,
A joyless endeavour.
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So He will at the last, too, gather all,
As in the bush a traveller for his fire
Sticks and dry leaves, as eerie the light fades;
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I look with half unfriendly eyes
Into the casual eyes I meet,
As if my spirit feared surprise,
Dim-memoried with some old defeat.
...