Edwin Arlington Robinson
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of the warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Mininver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
Edwin Arlington Robinson's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Miniver Cheevy by Edwin Arlington Robinson )
- Sorry-Wrong Number, Aftab Alam
- Wings Of Life, Saravanan Writer
- Gripes of. Freedom, Nalini Chaturvedi
- Jesus Of Nazareth, Naveed Khalid
- Keebored Problems, Phil Soar
- Antiques, Naveed Khalid
- Romance II, Naveed Khalid
- azoneofpoetryaartisphoenixnow, Nyein Way
- Dungeon, Naveed Khalid
- Rosicrucianism, Naveed Khalid