Treasure Island

Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

Amaryllis


Once, when I wandered in the woods alone,
An old man tottered up to me and said,
“Come, friend, and see the grave that I have made
For Amaryllis.” There was in the tone
Of his complaint such quaver and such moan
That I took pity on him and obeyed,
And long stood looking where his hands had laid
An ancient woman, shrunk to skin and bone.

Far out beyond the forest I could hear
The calling of loud progress, and the bold
Incessant scream of commerce ringing clear;
But though the trumpets of the world were glad,
It made me lonely and it made me sad
To think that Amaryllis had grown old.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Brian Purdy (1/11/2012 10:32:00 PM)

    A brilliantly-turned and affecting sonnet by a master craftsman poet. Last line brings inexorably to mind and heart my own remembrances of loved ones grown old and sere, stripped of all they were save what those who loved them remember. (Report) Reply

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