Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

41. Siege Perilous 1/3/2003
42. The Whip 1/3/2003
43. Two Gardens In Linndale 1/3/2003
44. The False Gods 1/3/2003
45. Job The Rejected 1/3/2003
46. The Long Race 1/3/2003
47. Variations Of Greek Themes 1/3/2003
48. The Voice Of Age 1/3/2003
49. The Altar 1/3/2003
50. Modernities 1/3/2003
51. Charles Carville's Eyes 1/3/2003
52. Nimmo 1/3/2003
53. Demos 1/3/2003
54. Verlaine 1/3/2003
55. Tact 1/3/2003
56. The Field Of Glory 1/3/2003
57. On The Way 1/3/2003
58. Many Are Called 1/3/2003
59. The Tavern 1/3/2003
60. Leffingwell 1/3/2003
61. The Companion 1/3/2003
62. The Town Down By The River 1/3/2003
63. The Clinging Vine 1/3/2003
64. The Story Of The Ashes And The Flame 1/3/2003
65. Old King Cole 1/3/2003
66. Two Men 1/3/2003
67. Lost Anchors 1/3/2003
68. The Wandering Jew 1/3/2003
69. The Wilderness 1/3/2003
70. Flammonde 1/3/2003
71. The Pity Of The Leaves 1/3/2003
72. Caput Mortuum 1/3/2003
73. Late Summer 1/3/2003
74. Twilight Song 1/3/2003
75. The Garden 1/3/2003
76. Avon's Harvest 1/3/2003
77. Doctor Of Billiards 1/3/2003
78. The Tree In Pamela's Garden 1/3/2003
79. The Three Taverns 1/3/2003
80. John Brown 1/3/2003

Comments about Edwin Arlington Robinson

  • richard borda (7/23/2018 12:35:00 PM)


    If silence is to avoid the restless crowd
    but go todepths where mystery abounds
    then return with kerygma loud
    tis not silence but heavenly sounds

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  • Christopher Gozdava (1/11/2012 1:20:00 PM)

    The poem A Happy Man is an example for me of poorly sounding, but a metrically correct poem. One more proof that it is not a form but a final pleasing outcome that makes any art valuable.

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

Tasker Norcross

“Whether all towns and all who live in them—
So long as they be somewhere in this world
That we in our complacency call ours—
Are more or less the same, I leave to you.
I should say less. Whether or not, meanwhile,
We’ve all two legs—and as for that, we haven’t—
There were three kinds of men where I was born:
The good, the not so good, and Tasker Norcross.
Now there are two kinds.”

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