Richard Crashaw’s tiny epigram turns the miracle of the loaves and fishes into a delighted puzzle. He points to a feast that doesn’t get torn apart by hungry mouths—it stays “sound” even while being eaten. That’s the first surprise: bread that isn’t diminished by consumption but somehow renews itself. He calls it a “subtle harvest of unbounded bread,” as though the very act of breaking and sharing makes more. Then, with a playful shrug, he asks, “What would ye more?” as if nothing could top this. But he does top it with the final line: “Here food itself is fed.” It’s a strange, almost cheeky idea—that the bread gets nourished by the feeding, or that Christ, the true bread, draws life from giving life. The whole poem feels like a quick, intimate joke with the reader, one that opens onto a vast spiritual mystery. Crashaw’s tone is marveling but never heavy; he makes the miracle feel close, bright, and almost edible in its cleverness.
Divine Epigrams: On the Miracle of the Multiplied Loaves — Summary
See here an easy feast that knows no wound, That under hunger's teeth will needs be sound; A subtle harvest of unbounded bread, What would ye more? Here food itself is fed.