Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

121. George Crabbe 1/3/2003
122. Shadrach O'Leary 1/3/2003
123. Stafford's Cabin 1/3/2003
124. Sainte-Nitouche 1/3/2003
125. Thomas Hood 1/3/2003
126. Partnership 1/3/2003
127. Zola 1/3/2003
128. Rembrandt To Rembrandt 1/3/2003
129. The Unforgiven 1/3/2003
130. How Annandale Went Out 1/3/2003
131. Calvary 1/3/2003
132. Peace On Earth 1/3/2003
133. Walt Whitman 1/3/2003
134. The Man Against The Sky 1/3/2003
135. Neighbors 1/3/2003
136. Avon's Harvest 1/3/2003
137. The Woman And The Wife 1/3/2003
138. Fleming Helphenstine 1/3/2003
139. On The Night Of A Friend's Wedding 1/3/2003
140. Cliff Klingenhagen 1/3/2003
141. The Mill 1/3/2003
142. Ben Trovato 1/3/2003
143. Firelight 1/3/2003
144. Atherton's Gambit 1/3/2003
145. As A World Would Have It 1/3/2003
146. Alma Mater 1/3/2003
147. Dear Friends 1/3/2003
148. A Song At Shannon's 1/3/2003
149. Luke Havergal 1/3/2003
150. Aunt Imogen 1/3/2003
151. Ben Jonson Entertains A Man From Stratford 1/3/2003
152. New England 1/3/2003
153. An Evangelist's Wife 1/3/2003
154. Archibald's Example 1/3/2003
155. For A Dead Lady 1/3/2003
156. Aaron Stark 1/3/2003
157. An Island 1/3/2003
158. Amaryllis 1/3/2003
159. Reuben Bright 1/3/2003
160. Ballad Of A Ship 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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