Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

121. The Pity Of The Leaves 1/3/2003
122. George Crabbe 1/3/2003
123. Stafford's Cabin 1/3/2003
124. Thomas Hood 1/3/2003
125. The Rat 1/3/2003
126. Partnership 1/3/2003
127. Rembrandt To Rembrandt 1/3/2003
128. The Unforgiven 1/3/2003
129. How Annandale Went Out 1/3/2003
130. Walt Whitman 1/3/2003
131. Neighbors 1/3/2003
132. Avon's Harvest 1/3/2003
133. Cliff Klingenhagen 1/3/2003
134. The Woman And The Wife 1/3/2003
135. Shadrach O'Leary 1/3/2003
136. Fleming Helphenstine 1/3/2003
137. The Man Against The Sky 1/3/2003
138. On The Night Of A Friend's Wedding 1/3/2003
139. For A Dead Lady 1/3/2003
140. Aunt Imogen 1/3/2003
141. The Mill 1/3/2003
142. Ben Trovato 1/3/2003
143. Calvary 1/3/2003
144. Firelight 1/3/2003
145. Atherton's Gambit 1/3/2003
146. As A World Would Have It 1/3/2003
147. Dear Friends 1/3/2003
148. A Song At Shannon's 1/3/2003
149. The Dark Hills 1/3/2003
150. Luke Havergal 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. Peace On Earth 1/3/2003
156. Bewick Finzer 1/3/2003
157. Alma Mater 1/3/2003
158. An Island 1/3/2003
159. The Children Of The Night 1/3/2003
160. Ballad Of A Ship 1/3/2003

Comments about Edwin Arlington Robinson

  • 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.

    29 person liked.
    30 person did not like.
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

Dear Friends

Dear Friends, reproach me not for what I do,
Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble-work that only fools pursue.
And if my bubbles be too small for you,
Blow bigger then your own: the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day,
Good glasses are to read the spirit through.

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