Edwin Arlington Robinson
Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems
|162.||Ballad Of Broken Flutes||1/3/2003|
|164.||Ballad Of Dead Friends||1/3/2003|
|168.||The House On The Hill||1/3/2003|
|170.||Another Dark Lady||1/3/2003|
|171.||Ballad By The Fire||1/3/2003|
|172.||Mr. Flood's Party||1/3/2003|
|173.||An Old Story||1/3/2003|
|174.||A Happy Man||1/3/2003|
Comments about Edwin Arlington Robinson
An Old Story
Strange that I did not know him then.
That friend of mine!
I did not even show him then
One friendly sign;
But cursed him for the ways he had
To make me see
My envy of the praise he had
For praising me.
I would have rid the earth of him
Once, in my pride...
I never knew the worth of him
Until he died.
“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.”