Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

41. Erasmus 1/3/2003
42. Eros Turannos 1/3/2003
43. Exit 1/3/2003
44. Firelight 1/3/2003
45. Flammonde 1/3/2003
46. Fleming Helphenstine 1/3/2003
47. For A Dead Lady 1/3/2003
48. For Ariva 1/3/2003
49. For Some Poems By Matthew Arnold 1/3/2003
50. Fragment 1/3/2003
51. George Crabbe 1/3/2003
52. Haunted House 4/19/2016
53. Her Eyes 1/3/2003
54. Hillcrest 1/3/2003
55. Horace To Leuconoë 1/3/2003
56. How Annandale Went Out 1/3/2003
57. Inferential 1/3/2003
58. Isaac And Archibald 1/3/2003
59. Job The Rejected 1/3/2003
60. John Brown 1/3/2003
61. John Evereldown 1/3/2003
62. John Gorham 1/3/2003
63. Lancelot 1/3/2003
64. Late Summer 1/3/2003
65. Lazarus 1/3/2003
66. Leffingwell 1/3/2003
67. L'Envoy 1/3/2003
68. Leonora 1/3/2003
69. Lingard And The Stars 1/3/2003
70. Lisette And Eileen 1/3/2003
71. Llewellyn And The Tree 1/3/2003
72. London Bridge 1/3/2003
73. Lost Anchors 1/3/2003
74. Luke Havergal 1/3/2003
75. Many Are Called 1/3/2003
76. Merlin 1/3/2003
77. Miniver Cheevy 1/3/2003
78. Modernities 1/3/2003
79. Momus 1/3/2003
80. Monadnock Through The Trees 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.

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