 | Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson |  |
3
THALIA
Morocco, and the Muse, and mimicry
Of what God never made and never meant
For man—Himself—diaphanously blent
With living shadows, play the mastery:
Pollio capers with Terpsichore,
While ass-eared Midas, swinishly content,
Wallows and roots amid the mire anent,
Nor peers beyond the spangled scenery.
Of what God never made and never meant
For man—Himself—diaphanously blent
With living shadows, play the mastery:
Pollio capers with Terpsichore,
While ass-eared Midas, swinishly content,
Wallows and roots amid the mire anent,
Nor peers beyond the spangled scenery.
We know not, dying, what we may be, dead;
We know not, living, what we are, alive:—
While painted Sorrow's mercenary laugh
Is linked with living lies, and ever read
As truth—throughout this humming human hive
Where is the man to write man's epitaph?
We know not, living, what we are, alive:—
While painted Sorrow's mercenary laugh
Is linked with living lies, and ever read
As truth—throughout this humming human hive
Where is the man to write man's epitaph?
| Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson | |