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Robert Graves (1895–1985). Fairies and Fusiliers. 1918.

Index of First Lines

An ancient saga tells us how
And have we done with War at last?
A purple whale
Back from the line one night in June
Back from the Somme two Fusiliers
Bugler sent a call of high romance, The
But I was dead, an hour or more
Cherries of the night are riper
Child alone a poet is, The
Children born of fairy stock
Christ of His gentleness
Cruel Moon hangs out of reach, The
Double red daisies, they’re my flowers
Down in the mud I lay
Father is quite the greatest poet
Feet and faces tingle
Gabble-gabble,… brethren,… gabble-gabble!
Great sun sinks behind the town, The
Here by a snowbound river
Here down this very way
Here in turn succeed and rule
I never dreamed we’d meet that day
I now delight
Is that the Three-and-Twentieth, Strabo mine
It doesn’t matter what’s the cause
I’ve watched the Seasons passing slow, so slow
Look at my knees
Most venerable and learned sir
My familiar ghost again
Near Clapham village, where fields began
Old Mr. Philosopher
Through long nursery nights he stood
To the woods, to the woods is the wizard gone
To you who’d read my songs of War
Under this loop of honeysuckle
Walking through trees to cool my heat and pain
What could be dafter
What do you think
When a dream is born in you
When outside the icy rain
When I’m killed, don’t think of me
Why do you break upon this old, cool peace
With a fork drive Nature out
Yet once an earlier David took
Youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling, The
You young friskies who today