Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

41. The Gift Of God 1/3/2003
42. Vickery's Mountain 1/3/2003
43. The Clinging Vine 1/3/2003
44. The Voice Of Age 1/3/2003
45. Doctor Of Billiards 1/3/2003
46. Bon Voyage 1/3/2003
47. Old Trails 1/3/2003
48. The Wise Brothers 1/3/2003
49. Many Are Called 1/3/2003
50. Caput Mortuum 1/3/2003
51. The Tavern 1/3/2003
52. Boston 1/3/2003
53. The Growth Of Lorraine 1/3/2003
54. The False Gods 1/3/2003
55. For Ariva 1/3/2003
56. Vain Gratuities 1/3/2003
57. The White Lights 1/3/2003
58. John Evereldown 1/3/2003
59. The Valley Of The Shadow 1/3/2003
60. Tact 1/3/2003
61. Charles Carville's Eyes 1/3/2003
62. The Wandering Jew 1/3/2003
63. Cortège 1/3/2003
64. The Three Taverns 1/3/2003
65. The Town Down By The River 1/3/2003
66. London Bridge 1/3/2003
67. Flammonde 1/3/2003
68. Two Men 1/3/2003
69. Variations Of Greek Themes 1/3/2003
70. The Tree In Pamela's Garden 1/3/2003
71. The World 1/3/2003
72. The Long Race 1/3/2003
73. Hillcrest 1/3/2003
74. Calverly's 1/3/2003
75. Souvenir 1/3/2003
76. Two Sonnets 1/3/2003
77. Bokardo 1/3/2003
78. Uncle Ananias 1/3/2003
79. Late Summer 1/3/2003
80. The Master 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

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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