Give Us Rain.

"Give us Rain, Rain," said the bean and the pea,
    "Not so much Sun,
    Not so much Sun."
But the Sun smiles bravely and encouragingly,
And no rain falls and no waters run.

"Give us Peace, Peace," said the peoples oppressed,
    "Not so many Flags,
    Not so many Flags."
But the Flags fly and the Drums beat, denying rest,
And the children starve, they shiver in rags.

Robert von Ranke Graves

Robert von Ranke Graves was a British poet, historical novelist, critic, and classicist. His father was Alfred Perceval Graves, a distinguished Irish poet and figure in the Gaelic revival. Known for his war poetry, love poems, and scholarly works, he created a lasting literary legacy, including his interpretations of the Greek myths. Graves was also a soldier in World War I, an experience that profoundly influenced his writing.

Robert von Ranke Graves

Finland

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

Faun

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

To E.M., A Ballad Of Nursery Rhyme.

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

Hate Not, Fear Not.

Robert von Ranke Graves, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Battle Autumn Of 1862

The flags of war like storm-birds fly,
The charging trumpets blow;
Yet rolls no thunder in the sky,
No earthquake strives below.

And, calm and patient, Nature keeps
Her ancient promise well,
Though oer her bloom and greenness sweeps
The battles breath of hell.

And still she walks in golden hours
Through harvest-happy farms,
And still she wears her fruits and flowers
Like jewels on her arms.

What mean the gladness of the plain,
This joy of eve and morn,
The mirth that shakes the beard of grain
And yellow locks of corn?

Ah! eyes may well be full of tears,
And hearts with hate are hot;
But even-paced come round the years,
And Nature changes not.

She meets with smiles our bitter grief,
With songs our groans ...

John Greenleaf Whittier

The Cry Of The Little Peoples

    The Cry of the Little Peoples went up to God in vain;
    The Czech and the Pole, and the Finn, and the Schleswig Dane:

    We ask but a little portion of the green, ambitious earth;
    Only to sow and sing and reap in the land of our birth.

    We ask not coaling stations, nor ports in the China seas,
    We leave to the big child-nations such rivalries as these.

    We have learned the lesson of Time, and we know three things of worth;
    Only to sow and sing and reap in the land of our birth.

    O leave us little margins, waste ends of land and sea,
    A little grass, and a hill or two, and a shadowing tree;

    O leave us our little rivers that sweetly catch the sky,
    To drive our mills, and to carry our wood, and to ripple by.

 ...

Richard Le Gallienne

To The Rain

Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall,
And lave the parched brow of the feverish earth,
The little drooping flow'rets on thee call,
Come, with thy cool touch wake them up to mirth
They will lift up glad faces to the sky,
Drinking in gladness from the warm moist air,
Now, thirsty, hot, and faint they droop and die,
Thou only canst revive these fainting fair
The grain has shrivelled, pining after thee,
And waves light-headed from a sickly stalk,
There's no green herbage on the sunburned lea,
The glaring sun through glowing skies doth walk,
Looking down hotly on sweet Allumette,
Thinking to dry it with his ardent gaze,
Each day a strip of sand left bare and wet,
Tells how she shrinks from his pursuing rays

1870

Nora Pembroke

Country At War.

And what of home, how goes it, boys,
While we die here in stench and noise?
"The hill stands up and hedges wind
Over the crest and drop behind;
Here swallows dip and wild things go
On peaceful errands to and fro
Across the sloping meadow floor,
And make no guess at blasting war.
In woods that fledge the round hill-shoulder
Leaves shoot and open, fall and moulder,
And shoot again.    Meadows yet show
Alternate white of drifted snow
And daisies.    Children play at shop,
Warm days, on the flat boulder-top,
With wildflower coinage, and the wares
Are bits of glass and unripe pears.
Crows perch upon the backs of sheep,
The wheat goes yellow:    women reap,
Autumn winds ruffle brook and pond,
Flutter the hedge and fly beyond.
So the first things ...

Robert von Ranke Graves

We To Sigh Instead Of Sing.

    "Rain and rain! and rain and rain!"
    Yesterday we muttered
    Grimly as the grim refrain
    That the thunders uttered:
    All the heavens under cloud -
    All the sunshine sleeping;
    All the grasses limply bowed
    With their weight of weeping.

    Sigh and sigh! and sigh and sigh!
    Never end of sighing;
    Rain and rain for our reply -
    Hopes half-drowned and dying;
    Peering through the window-pane,
    Naught but endless raining -
    Endless sighing, and, as vain,
    Endlessly complaining.

    Shine and shine! and shine and shine!
    Ah! to-day the splendor! -
    All this glory yours and mine -
    God! but God is tender!
    We to sigh instead of sing,
    Yesterday, in sorrow,
  ...

James Whitcomb Riley

Give Us Love And Give Us Peace.

One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;
'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!"
    And the lark sang, "Give us glory!"
    And the dove said, "Give us peace!"

Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;
When the nightingale came after, "Give us fame to sweeten duty!"
    When the wren sang, "Give us beauty!"
    She made answer, "Give us love!"

Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase,
And my prayer goes up, "Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,
    Give for all our life's dear st...

Jean Ingelow