Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

121. The Flying Dutchman 1/3/2003
122. The Garden 1/3/2003
123. The Gift Of God 1/3/2003
124. The Growth Of Lorraine 1/3/2003
125. The House On The Hill 1/3/2003
126. The Klondike 1/3/2003
127. The Long Race 1/3/2003
128. The Man Against The Sky 1/3/2003
129. The Master 1/3/2003
130. The Mill 1/3/2003
131. The New Tenants 1/3/2003
132. The Old King's New Jester 1/3/2003
133. The Pilot 1/3/2003
134. The Pity Of The Leaves 1/3/2003
135. The Poor Relation 1/3/2003
136. The Rat 1/3/2003
137. The Return Of Morgan And Fingal 1/3/2003
138. The Revealer 1/3/2003
139. The Sage 1/3/2003
140. The Story Of The Ashes And The Flame 1/3/2003
141. The Sunken Crown 1/3/2003
142. The Tavern 1/3/2003
143. The Three Taverns 1/3/2003
144. The Torrent 1/3/2003
145. The Town Down By The River 1/3/2003
146. The Tree In Pamela's Garden 1/3/2003
147. The Unforgiven 1/3/2003
148. The Valley Of The Shadow 1/3/2003
149. The Voice Of Age 1/3/2003
150. The Wandering Jew 1/3/2003
151. The Whip 1/3/2003
152. The White Lights 1/3/2003
153. The Wilderness 1/3/2003
154. The Wise Brothers 1/3/2003
155. The Woman And The Wife 1/3/2003
156. The World 1/3/2003
157. Theophilus 1/3/2003
158. Thomas Hood 1/3/2003
159. Three Quatrains 1/3/2003
160. Twilight Song 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

Villanelle Of Change

Since Persia fell at Marathon,
The yellow years have gathered fast:
Long centuries have come and gone.

And yet (they say) the place will don
A phantom fury of the past,
Since Persia fell at Marathon;

And as of old, when Helicon

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