 | Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson |  |
SHOOTING STARS
When ardent summer skies are bright
With myriad friendly lamps that glow
Down from their dark, mysterious height
To charm the shrouded earth below—
Lost in a faith we do not know,
Nor human discord ever jars
With eyes that wide and wider grow,
He sits and waits for shooting stars.
With myriad friendly lamps that glow
Down from their dark, mysterious height
To charm the shrouded earth below—
Lost in a faith we do not know,
Nor human discord ever jars
With eyes that wide and wider grow,
He sits and waits for shooting stars.
And when they slide across the night
Like arrows from a Titan's bow,
He shudders for supreme delight
And shouts to see them scamper so,
No sneering science comes to show
The poor brain crossed with silly scars;
But flushed with joys that overflow,
He sits and waits for shooting stars.
Like arrows from a Titan's bow,
He shudders for supreme delight
And shouts to see them scamper so,
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The poor brain crossed with silly scars;
But flushed with joys that overflow,
He sits and waits for shooting stars.
We call him an unlovely wight;
But if his wit be something slow,
Nor ever weary of the sight
That Adam saw so long ago—
Released from knowledge and its woe,
No gloom his constant rapture mars:—
Oblivious from head to toe,
He sits and waits for shooting stars.
But if his wit be something slow,
Nor ever weary of the sight
That Adam saw so long ago—
Released from knowledge and its woe,
No gloom his constant rapture mars:—
Oblivious from head to toe,
He sits and waits for shooting stars.
| Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson | |