 | Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson |  |
FOR A COPY OF POE'S POEMS
Like a wild stranger out of wizard-land
He dwelt a little with us, and withdrew;
Bleak and unblossomed were the wayes he knew,
Dark was the glass through which his fine eye scanned
Life's hard perplexities; and frail his hand,
Groping in utter night for pleasure's clue.
These wonder-songs, fantastically few,
He left us. ... but we cannot understand.
He dwelt a little with us, and withdrew;
Bleak and unblossomed were the wayes he knew,
Dark was the glass through which his fine eye scanned
Life's hard perplexities; and frail his hand,
Groping in utter night for pleasure's clue.
These wonder-songs, fantastically few,
He left us. ... but we cannot understand.
Lone voices calling for a dimmed ideal
Mix with the varied music of the years
And take their place with sorrows gone before:
Some are wide yearnings ringing with a real
And royal hopelessness, some are thin tears.
Some are ghosts of dreams, and one—Lenore.
Mix with the varied music of the years
And take their place with sorrows gone before:
Some are wide yearnings ringing with a real
And royal hopelessness, some are thin tears.
Some are ghosts of dreams, and one—Lenore.
| Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson | |