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By Robert Graves

Are you shaken, are you stirred

    By a whisper of love,

Spellbound to a word

    Does Time cease to move,

Till her calm grey eye

    Expands to a sky

And the clouds of her hair

    Like storms go by?

 

Then the lips that you have kissed

    Turn to frost and fire,

And a white-steaming mist

    Obscures desire:

So back to their birth

    Fade water, air, earth,

And the First Power moves

    Over void and dearth.


Is that Love? no, but Death,

    A passion, a shout,

The deep in-breath,

    The breath roaring out,

And once that is flown,

    You must lie alone,

Without hope, without life,

    Poor flesh, sad bone.


  • Living
  • Love
  • Nature

Poet Bio

Robert Graves
Robert Graves was an English poet, scholar/translator, writer of antiquity specializing in Classical Greece and Rome, and novelist. A rebel socially, as well as artistically, Graves left his wife and four children in 1929 to live in Majorca with Laura Riding, an American poet. After his break with Riding, Graves, inspired by studies of matriarchal societies and goddess cults, formulated his own personal mythology of the White Goddess which would affect all of his future work.

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