Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems

1. Why He Was There 11/26/2014
2. Horace To Leuconoë 1/3/2003
3. Tasker Norcross 1/3/2003
4. Momus 1/3/2003
5. The Return Of Morgan And Fingal 1/3/2003
6. Erasmus 1/3/2003
7. Fragment 1/3/2003
8. The Old King's New Jester 1/3/2003
9. Lazarus 1/3/2003
10. Demos 1/3/2003
11. Nimmo 1/3/2003
12. Leffingwell 1/3/2003
13. Lingard And The Stars 1/3/2003
14. Llewellyn And The Tree 1/3/2003
15. The Revealer 1/3/2003
16. Job The Rejected 1/3/2003
17. Lisette And Eileen 1/3/2003
18. Rahel To Varnhagen 1/3/2003
19. Theophilus 1/3/2003
20. The Sunken Crown 1/3/2003
21. L'Envoy 1/3/2003
22. Inferential 1/3/2003
23. The New Tenants 1/3/2003
24. Lost Anchors 1/3/2003
25. The Whip 1/3/2003
26. The Altar 1/3/2003
27. Recalled 1/3/2003
28. For Some Poems By Matthew Arnold 1/3/2003
29. The Chorus Of Old Men In Aegus 1/3/2003
30. Clavering 1/3/2003
31. Two Octaves 1/3/2003
32. The Book Of Annandale 1/3/2003
33. The Tree In Pamela's Garden 1/3/2003
34. The World 1/3/2003
35. Discovery 1/3/2003
36. The Pilot 1/3/2003
37. Isaac And Archibald 1/3/2003
38. The Corridor 1/3/2003
39. The White Lights 1/3/2003
40. But For The Grace Of God 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

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.

[Hata Bildir]