Leonora by Edwin Arlington Robinson

………………………………….Leonora

They have made for Leonora this low dwelling in the ground,
And with cedar they have woven the four walls around.
Like a little dryad hiding she’ll be wrapped all in green,
Better kept and longer valued than by ways that would have been. 

They will come with many roses in the early afternoon,
They will come with pinks and lilies and with Leonora soon;
And as long as beauty’s garments over beauty’s limbs are thrown,
There’ll be lilies that are liars, and the rose will have its own. 

There will be a wondrous quiet in the house that they have made,
And to-night will be a darkness in the place where she’ll be laid;
But the builders, looking forward into time, could only see
Darker nights for Leonora than to-night shall ever be.

 

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Miniver Cheevy by Edwin Arlington Robinson

……..Miniver Cheevy

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
…Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
…And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
…When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
…Would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
…And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
…And Priam’s neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
…That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
…And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
…Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
…Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
…And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
…Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
…But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
…And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
…Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
…And kept on drinking.

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Richard Cory by 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 without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

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Luke Havergal by Edwin Arlington Robinson

…………..Luke Havergal

Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The leaves will whisper there of her, and some,
Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you listen she will call.
Go the western gate, Luke Havergal –
Luke Havergal.

No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes;
But there, where western glooms are gathering,
The dark will end the dark, if anything;
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies –
In eastern skies.

Out of a grave I come to tell you this,
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,
Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this –
To tell you this.

There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall.
Go, for the winds are tearing them away, –
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal –
Luke Havergal.

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