Who is Robert Graves

Robert von Ranke Graves (24 July 1895 – 7 December 1985), known as Robert Graves, was a British poet, historical novelist, critic, and classicist. His father was Alfred Perceval Graves, a celebrated Irish poet and figure in the Gaelic revival; they were both Celticists and students of Irish mythology. Graves produced more than 140 works. Graves's poems—together with his translations and innovative analysis and interpretations of the Greek myths; his memoir of his early life, including his role in World War I, Good-Bye to All That; and his speculative study of poetic inspiration, The White Goddess—have never been out of print.

He earned his living from writing, particularly popular historical novels such as I, Claudius, King Jesus, The Golden Fleece and Count ...
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Robert Graves Poems

  • Morning PhÅ?nix
    In my body lives a flame,
    Flame that burns me all the day;
    When a fierce sun does the same,
    I am charred away. ...
  • The Boy In Church
    'Gabble-gabble . . . brethren . . . gabble-gabble!'
    My window glimpses larch and heather.
    I hardly hear the tuneful babble,
    Not knowing nor much caring whether ...
  • In Broken Images
    He is quick, thinking in clear images;
    I am slow, thinking in broken images.

    He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images; ...
  • The Travellers' Curse After Misdirection
    (from the Welsh)

    May they stumble, stage by stage
    On an endless Pilgrimage ...
  • The Snapped Thread
    Desire, first, by a natural miracle
    United bodies, united hearts, blazed beauty;
    Transcended bodies, transcended hearts.
    ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Robert Graves

I Love You 44 Love 44 Time 38 Heart 36 Away 33 Never 30 Night 28 God 28 Red 27 Long 27


Robert Graves Quotes

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Comments about Robert Graves

  • Robert_graves: this is sad. still use ‘who is she!?’
  • Anthonyblsmith: robert graves is like “i thought i could write a long game but turns out all i could do was type one!”
  • Amandalees: to me, this is the perfect love poem: she tells her love while half asleep, in the dark hours, with half words whispered low: as earth stirs in her winter sleep and puts out grass and flowers despite the snow, despite the falling snow. robert graves
  • Peldag: on page 396 of 832 of los mitos griegos, by robert graves
  • Themarchhare421: “rats came up from the canal, fed on the plentiful corpses, and multiplied exceedingly...a new officer joined the company and...shone his torch on the bed, and found two rats on his blanket tussling for the possession of a severed hand.” – capt. robert graves’ autobiography
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Poem of the day

Vachel Lindsay Poem
On Receiving One Of Gloriana-s Letters
 by Vachel Lindsay

Your pen needs but a ruffle
To be Pavlova whirling.
It surely is a scalawag
A-scamping down the page.
A pretty little May-wind
The morning buds uncurling.
And then the white sweet Russian,
The dancer of the age.
...

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