 | Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson |  |
ISAAC PITMAN
With many a whirling dash of dim design
He snares the flying thought in frenzy flung;
The captive cadence of the human tongue
Follows his hand, immured in every line:
His labor through the centuries will shine,
And when this old man dwells no more among
The living, where his glories long have rung,
Calling his fellows to the phonic shrine—
He snares the flying thought in frenzy flung;
The captive cadence of the human tongue
Follows his hand, immured in every line:
9
And when this old man dwells no more among
The living, where his glories long have rung,
Calling his fellows to the phonic shrine—
Still will he walk Fame's flowering avenues,
Amid rich gardens through his life-work sown—
Fairer than vineyards in far Sicily;
And here the Master, mutely musing, views
New flowers springing where the old have grown,
The princely pageant of posterity.
Amid rich gardens through his life-work sown—
Fairer than vineyards in far Sicily;
And here the Master, mutely musing, views
New flowers springing where the old have grown,
The princely pageant of posterity.
| Uncollected poems and prose of Edwin Arlington Robinson | |