Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson

And now, my brother, it is time
For me to tell the truth to you:
To tell the story of a crime
As black as Mona's eyes were blue.—
Yes, here to-night, before I die,
I'll speak the words that burn in me;
And you may send them, bye-and-bye,
To Calderon across the sea.

Now get some paper and a pen,
And sit right here, beside my bed.
Write every word I say, and then—
And then ... well, what then?—I'll be dead!—
... But here I am alive enough,
And I remember all I've done ...
God knows what I was thinking of!—
But send it home—to Calderon.

And you, Francisco, brother, say,—
What is there for a man like me?—
I tell you God sounds far away—
As far—almost as far—as she!
I killed her! ... Yes, I poisoned her—
So slowly that she never knew ...
Francisco,—I'm a murderer.—
Now tell me what there is to do!

To die—of course; but after that,
I wonder if I live again!
And if I live again, for what?—
To suffer? ... Bah!—there is no pain
But one; and that I know so well
That I can shame the devil's eyes! ...
For twenty years I've heard in hell
What Mona sings in Paradise!

Strange, that a little Northern girl
Should love my brother Calderon,
And set my brain so in a whirl
That I was mad till she was gone! ...

I wonder if all men be such
As I?—I wonder what love is!—
I never loved her very much
Until I saw that she was his;—

And then I knew that I was lost:
And then—I knew that I was mad.—
I reasoned what it all would cost,
But that was nothing.—I was glad
To feel myself so foul a thing!—
And I was glad for Calderon. ...
My God! if he could hear her sing
Just once, as I do!—There! she's done. ...

No, it was only something wrong
A minute—something in my head.—
God, no!—she'll never stop that song
As long as I'm alive or dead!
As long as I am here or there,
She'll sing to me, a murderer!—
Well, I suppose the gods are fair. ...
I killed her ... yes, I poisoned her!

But you, Francisco,—you are young;—
So take my hand and hear me, now:—
There are no lies upon your tongue,
There is no guilt upon your brow.—
But there is blood upon your name?—
And blood, you say, will rust the steel
That strikes for honor or for shame? ...
Francisco, it is fear you feel!—

And such a miserable fear
That you, my boy, will call it pride;—
But you will grope from year to year
Until as last the clouds divide,
And all at once you meet the truth,
And curse yourself, with helpless rage,
For something you have lost with youth
And found again, too late, with age.

The truth, my brother, is just this:—
Your title here is nothing more
Or less than what your courage is:
The man must put himself before
The name, and once the master stay
Forever—or forever fall.—
Good-bye!—Remember what I say ...
Good-bye;—Good-by! ... And that was all.

The lips were still: the man was dead.—
Francisco, with a weird surprise,
Stood like a stranger by the bed,
And there were no tears in his eyes.
But in his heart there was a grief
Too strong for human tears to free,—
And in his hand a written leaf
For Calderon across the sea.

University of Virginia Library

FOR CALDERON