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Best Famous Richard Crashaw Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Richard Crashaw poems. This is a select list of the best famous Richard Crashaw poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Richard Crashaw poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Richard Crashaw poems.

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Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Prayer

 I ASK good things that I detest,
With speeches fair;
Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,
But hear my prayer.
I say ill things I would not say - Things unaware: Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, And not my prayer.
My heart is evil in Thy sight: My good thoughts flee: O Lord, I cannot wish aright - Wish Thou for me.
O bend my words and acts to Thee, However ill, That I, whate'er I say or be, May serve Thee still.
O let my thoughts abide in Thee Lest I should fall: Show me Thyself in all I see, Thou Lord of all.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Prayer

 LET us leave our island woods grown dim and blue;
O’er the waters creeping the pearl dust of the eve
Hides the silver of the long wave rippling through:
 The chill for the warm room let us leave.
Turn the lamp down low and draw the curtain wide, So the greyness of the starlight bathes the room; Let us see the giant face of night outside, Though vague as a moth’s wing is the gloom.
Rumour of the fierce-pulsed city far away Breaks upon the peace that aureoles our rest, Steeped in stillness as if some primeval day Hung drowsily o’er the water’s breast.
Shut the eyes that flame and hush the heart that burns: In quiet we may hear the old primeval cry: God gives wisdom to the spirit that upturns: Let us adore now, you and I.
Age on age is heaped about us as we hear: Cycles hurry to and fro with giant tread From the deep unto the deep: but do not fear, For the soul unhearing them is dead.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Prayer

 Prayer the Churches banquet, Angels age,
Gods breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgramage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth;
Engine against th'Almightie, sinners towre,
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
The six-daies world-transposing in an houre,
A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear;
Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse,
Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best,
Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest,
The milkie way, the bird of Paradise,
Church-bels beyond the starres heard, the souls bloud,
The land of spices; something understood.


More great poems below...

Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Divine Epigrams: Samson to his Delilah

 Could not once blinding me, cruel, suffice?
When first I look'd on thee, I lost mine eyes.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife

 TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force 'Twixt soul and body a divorce, It could not sever man and wife, Because they both lived but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep; Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie In the last knot that love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on, Till the stormy night be gone, And the eternal morrow dawn; Then the curtains will be drawn, And they wake into a light Whose day shall never die in night.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Divine Epigrams: On the Miracle of the Multiplied Loaves

 See here an easy feast that knows no wound,
That under hunger's teeth will needs be sound;
A subtle harvest of unbounded bread,
What would ye more? Here food itself is fed.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

The Flaming Heart

 O heart, the equal poise of love's both parts,
Big alike with wounds and darts,
Live in these conquering leaves; live all the same,
And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame;
Live here, great heart, and love and die and kill,
And bleed and wound, and yield and conquer still.
Let this immortal life, where'er it comes, Walk in a crowd of loves and martyrdoms; Let mystic deaths wait on 't, and wise souls be The love-slain witnesses of this life of thee.
O sweet incendiary! show here thy art, Upon this carcass of a hard cold heart, Let all thy scatter'd shafts of light, that play Among the leaves of thy large books of day, Combin'd against this breast, at once break in And take away from me my self and sin; This gracious robbery shall thy bounty be, And my best fortunes such fair spoils of me.
O thou undaunted daughter of desires! By all thy dow'r of lights and fires, By all the eagle in thee, all the dove, By all thy lives and deaths of love, By thy large draughts of intellectual day, And by thy thirsts of love more large than they, By all thy brim-fill'd bowls of fierce desire, By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire, By the full kingdom of that final kiss That seiz'd thy parting soul and seal'd thee his, By all the heav'ns thou hast in him, Fair sister of the seraphim! By all of him we have in thee, Leave nothing of my self in me: Let me so read thy life that I Unto all life of mine may die.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

But Men Loved Darkness rather than Light

 The world's light shines, shine as it will,
The world will love its darkness still.
I doubt though when the world's in hell, It will not love its darkness half so well.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Christ Crucified

 THY restless feet now cannot go
 For us and our eternal good,
As they were ever wont.
What though They swim, alas! in their own flood? Thy hands to give Thou canst not lift, Yet will Thy hand still giving be; It gives, but O, itself's the gift! It gives tho' bound, tho' bound 'tis free!


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Divine Epigrams: On the Baptized Ethiopian

 To wash an Ethiope;
He's wash'd, his gloomy skin a peaceful shade,
For his white soul is made;
And now, I doubt not, the Eternal Dove
A black-fac'd house will love.
Credits and CopyrightTogether with the editors, the Department ofEnglish (University of Toronto), and the University of Toronto Press,the following individuals share copyright for the work that wentinto this edition:Screen Design (Electronic Edition): Sian Meikle (University ofToronto Library)Scanning: Sharine Leung (Centre for Computing in the Humanities)


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

On Mr. G. Herberts Book Entitled the Temple of Sacred Poe

 Know you fair, on what you look;
Divinest love lies in this book,
Expecting fire from your eyes,
To kindle this his sacrifice.
When your hands untie these strings, Think you'have an angel by th' wings.
One that gladly will be nigh, To wait upon each morning sigh.
To flutter in the balmy air Of your well-perfumed prayer.
These white plumes of his he'll lend you, Which every day to heaven will send you, To take acquaintance of the sphere, And all the smooth-fac'd kindred there.
And though Herbert's name do owe These devotions, fairest, know That while I lay them on the shrine Of your white hand, they are mine.
Credits and CopyrightTogether with the editors, the Department ofEnglish (University of Toronto), and the University of Toronto Press,the following individuals share copyright for the work that wentinto this edition:Screen Design (Electronic Edition): Sian Meikle (University ofToronto Library)Scanning: Sharine Leung (Centre for Computing in the Humanities)


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Divine Epigrams: To our Lord upon the Water Made Wine

 Thou water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life,
Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of thy reign,
Distills from thence the tears of wrath and strife,
And so turns wine to water back again.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

The Weeper

 HAIL, sister springs,
Parents of silver-footed rills!
 Ever bubbling things,
Thawing crystal, snowy hills!
 Still spending, never spent; I mean
 Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.
Heavens thy fair eyes be; Heavens of ever-falling stars; 'Tis seed-time still with thee, And stars thou sow'st whose harvest dares Promise the earth to countershine Whatever makes Heaven's forehead fine.
Every morn from hence A brisk cherub something sips Whose soft influence Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips; Then to his music: and his song Tastes of this breakfast all day long.
When some new bright guest Takes up among the stars a room, And Heaven will make a feast, Angels with their bottles come, And draw from these full eyes of thine Their Master's water, their own wine.
The dew no more will weep The primrose's pale cheek to deck; The dew no more will sleep Nuzzled in the lily's neck: Much rather would it tremble here, And leave them both to be thy tear.
When sorrow would be seen In her brightest majesty, --For she is a Queen-- Then is she drest by none but thee: Then and only then she wears Her richest pearls--I mean thy tears.
Not in the evening's eyes, When they red with weeping are For the Sun that dies, Sits Sorrow with a face so fair.
Nowhere but here did ever meet Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.
Does the night arise? Still thy tears do fall and fall.
Does night lose her eyes? Still the fountain weeps for all.
Let day and night do what they will, Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.
Not So long she lived Will thy tomb report of thee; But So long she grieved: Thus must we date thy memory.
Others by days, by months, by years, Measure their ages, thou by tears.
Say, ye bright brothers, The fugitive sons of those fair eyes Your fruitful mothers, What make you here? What hopes can 'tice You to be born? What cause can borrow You from those nests of noble sorrow? Whither away so fast For sure the sordid earth Your sweetness cannot taste, Nor does the dust deserve your birth.
Sweet, whither haste you then? O say, Why you trip so fast away? We go not to seek The darlings of Aurora's bed, The rose's modest cheek, Nor the violet's humble head.
No such thing: we go to meet A worthier object--our Lord's feet.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

The Recommendation

 These houres, and that which hovers o’re my End,
Into thy hands, and hart, lord, I commend.
Take Both to Thine Account, that I and mine In that Hour, and in these, may be all thine.
That as I dedicate my devoutest Breath To make a kind of Life for my lord’s Death, So from his living, and life-giving Death, My dying Life may draw a new, and never fleeting Breath.


Written by Richard Crashaw | |

Upon the Book and Picture of the Seraphical Saint Teresa

 O THOU undaunted daughter of desires!
By all thy dower of lights and fires;
By all the eagle in thee, all the dove;
By all thy lives and deaths of love;
By thy large draughts of intellectual day,
And by thy thirsts of love more large than they;
By all thy brim-fill'd bowls of fierce desire,
By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire;
By the full kingdom of that final kiss
That seized thy parting soul, and seal'd thee His;
By all the Heav'n thou hast in Him
(Fair sister of the seraphim!);
By all of Him we have in thee;
Leave nothing of myself in me.
Let me so read thy life, that I Unto all life of mine may die!