Edwin Arlington Robinson

(22 December 1869 – 6 April 1935 / Maine / United States)

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

1. A Happy Man 1/3/2003
2. A Song At Shannon's 1/3/2003
3. Aaron Stark 1/3/2003
4. Afterthoughts 1/3/2003
5. Alma Mater 1/3/2003
6. Amaryllis 1/3/2003
7. An Evangelist's Wife 1/3/2003
8. An Island 1/3/2003
9. An Old Story 1/3/2003
10. Another Dark Lady 1/3/2003
11. Archibald's Example 1/3/2003
12. As A World Would Have It 1/3/2003
13. Atherton's Gambit 1/3/2003
14. Aunt Imogen 1/3/2003
15. Avon's Harvest 1/3/2003
16. Ballad By The Fire 1/3/2003
17. Ballad Of A Ship 1/3/2003
18. Ballad Of Broken Flutes 1/3/2003
19. Ballad Of Dead Friends 1/3/2003
20. Ben Jonson Entertains A Man From Stratford 1/3/2003
21. Ben Trovato 1/3/2003
22. Bewick Finzer 1/3/2003
23. Bokardo 1/3/2003
24. Bon Voyage 1/3/2003
25. Boston 1/3/2003
26. But For The Grace Of God 1/3/2003
27. Calvary 1/3/2003
28. Calverly's 1/3/2003
29. Captain Craig 1/3/2003
30. Caput Mortuum 1/3/2003
31. Cassandra 1/3/2003
32. Charles Carville's Eyes 1/3/2003
33. Clavering 1/3/2003
34. Cliff Klingenhagen 1/3/2003
35. Cortège 1/3/2003
36. Credo 1/3/2003
37. Dear Friends 1/3/2003
38. Demos 1/3/2003
39. Discovery 1/3/2003
40. Doctor Of Billiards 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Edwin Arlington Robinson

Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went ...

Read the full of Richard Cory

Veteran Sirens

The ghost of Ninon would be sorry now
To laugh at them, were she to see them here,
So brave and so alert for learning how
To fence with reason for another year.

Age offers a far comelier diadem
Than theirs; but anguish has no eye for grace,
When time’s malicious mercy cautions them
To think a while of number and of space.

[Hata Bildir]