 | Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson |  |
THE WORLD
Some are the brothers of all humankind,
And own them, whatsoever their estate;
And some, for sorrow and self-scorn, are blind
With enmity for man's unguarded fate.
And own them, whatsoever their estate;
And some, for sorrow and self-scorn, are blind
With enmity for man's unguarded fate.
For some there is a music all day long
Like flutes in Paradise, they are so glad;
And there is hell's eternal under-song
Of curses and the cries of men gone mad.
Like flutes in Paradise, they are so glad;
And there is hell's eternal under-song
Of curses and the cries of men gone mad.
Some say the Scheme with love stands luminous,
Some say 'twere better back to chaos hurled;
And so 'tis what we are that makes for us
The measure and the meaning of the world.
Some say 'twere better back to chaos hurled;
And so 'tis what we are that makes for us
The measure and the meaning of the world.
| Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson | |