Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

The World - Poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Some are the brothers of all humankind,
And own them, whatsoever their estate;
And some, for sorrow and self-scorn, are blind
With enmity for man's unguarded fate.

For some there is a music all day long
Like flutes in Paradise, they are so glad;
And there is hell's eternal under-song
Of curses and the cries of men gone mad.

Some say the Scheme with love stands luminous,
Some say 't were better back to chaos hurled;
And so 't is what we are that makes for us
The measure and the meaning of the world.


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Read poems about / on: fate, sorrow, music, song, world, brother



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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