The Pier-Glass

By Robert Graves

"The Pier-Glass" is a poetry book by Robert Graves, a British poet, historical novelist, and critic who published over 140 works. This book contains some interesting and amazing poems that are loved by many and appreciated among readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Good Press
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 4057664575401

Robert Graves

Robert Graves (Indianapolis, IN) is the owner of Fox Hollow Farm. Since learning of the farm’s past, Robert has devoted himself to understanding the tragic events that took place there.

Book preview

Robert Graves

The Pier-Glass

Published by Good Press, 2019

[e-mail]

EAN 4057664575401

Table of Contents

THE STAKE

THE TROLL'S NOSEGAY

THE PIER-GLASS

THE FINDING OF LOVE

REPROACH

THE MAGICAL PICTURE

DISTANT SMOKE

MORNING PHOENIX

CATHERINE DRURY

RAISING THE STONE

THE TREASURE BOX

THE KISS

LOST LOVE

FOX'S DINGLE

THE GNAT

THE PATCHWORK BONNET

KIT LOGAN AND LADY HELEN

DOWN

SAUL OF TARSUS

STORM: AT THE FARM WINDOW

BLACK HORSE LANE

RETURN

INCUBUS

THE HILLS OF MAY

THE CORONATION MURDER In Four Parts

I

II

III

IV

MARTIN SECKER'S BOOKS

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THE STAKE

Table of Contents

Naseboro' held him guilty,

Crowther took his part,

Who lies at the cross-roads,

A stake through his heart.

Spring calls, and the stake answers

Throwing out shoots;

The towns debate what life is this

Sprung from such roots.

Naseboro' says A Upas Tree;

A Rose, says Crowther;

But April's here to declare it

Neither one nor other.

Neither ill nor very fair,

Rose nor Upas,

But an honest oak-tree,

As its parent was.

A green-tufted oak-tree

On the green wold,

Careless as the dead heart

That the roots enfold.

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THE TROLL'S NOSEGAY

Table of Contents

A simple nosegay! was that much to ask?

(Winter still gloomed, with scarce a bud yet showing).

He loved her ill, if he resigned the task.

Somewhere, she cried, there must be blossom blowing.

It seems my lady wept and the troll swore

By Heaven he hated tears: he'd cure her spleen;

Where she had begged one flower, he'd shower fourscore,

A haystack bunch to amaze a China Queen.

Cold fog-drawn Lily, pale mist-magic Rose

He conjured, and in a glassy cauldron set

With elvish unsubstantial Mignonette

And such vague bloom as wandering dreams enclose.

But she?

Awed,

Charmed to tears,

Distracted,

Yet—

Even yet, perhaps, a trifle piqued—who knows?

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