George Crabbe
George Crabbe
George Crabbewas an English poet, surgeon, and clergyman. He is best known for his early use of the realistic narrative form and his descriptions of middle and working-class life and people...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth24 December 1754
maxim
But 'twas a maxim he had often tried, / That right was right, and there he would abide.
brains dark deep doubtful hold love rather
Oh! rather give me commentators plain, / Who with no deep researches vex the brain; / Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, / And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.
books books-and-reading cannot craving however minds
Books cannot always please, however good;/ Minds are not ever craving for their food.
gold ring
The ring so worn, as you behold, / So thin, so pale, is yet of gold.
gently left odious race time touched
Time has touched me gently in his race,/ And left no odious furrows in my face.
honest tall tower
What is a church? - Our honest sexton tells, / 'Tis a tall building, with a tower and bells.
aid creature faithful looks poor rich
With eye upraised his master's looks to scan, The joy, the solace, and the aid of man; The rich man's guardian, and the poor man's friend, The only creature faithful to the end.
english-poet
To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent.
english-poet wisdom
Be there a will, and wisdom finds a way.
english-poet experience heaven help nature
In her experience all her friends relied, Heaven was her help and nature was her guide.
life my-new-love
Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved.
done tests youth
Habit with him was all the test of truth; It must be right: I've done it from my youth.
dream portraits please
Dreams are like portraits; and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.
prayer pain real
Say, ye oppress'd by some fantastic woes, Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose; Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance With timid eye, to read the distant glance; Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease, To name the nameless ever-new disease; Who with mock patience dire complaints endure, Which real pain and that alone can cure; How would ye bear in real pain to lie, Despised, neglected, left alone to die? How would ye bear to draw your latest breath, Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?