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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Three Taverns
A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
Edwin Arlington Robinson
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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Valley of the Shadow
There were faces to remember in the Valley of the Shadow； There were
faces unregarded； there were faces to forget； There were fires of grief and
fear that are a few forgotten ashes； There were sparks of recognition that
are not forgotten yet。 For at first； with an amazed and overwhelming
indignation At a measureless malfeasance that obscurely willed it thus；
They were lost and unacquainted till they found themselves in others；
Who had groped as they were groping where dim ways were perilous。
There were lives that were as dark as are the fears and intuitions Of a
child who knows himself and is alone with what he knows； There were
pensioners of dreams and there were debtors of illusions； All to fail before
the triumph of a weed that only grows。 There were thirsting heirs of
golden sieves that held not wine or water； And had no names in traffic or
more value there than toys： There were blighted sons of wonder in the
Valley of the Shadow； Where they suffered and still wondered why their
wonder made no noise。
There were slaves who dragged the shackles of a precedent unbroken；
Demonstrating the fulfilment of unalterable schemes； Which had been；
before the cradle； Time's inexorable tenants Of what were now the dusty
ruins of their father's dreams。 There were these； and there were many who
had stumbled up to manhood； Where they saw too late the road they
should have taken long ago： There were thwarted clerks and fiddlers in the
Valley of the Shadow； The commemorative wreckage of what others did
not know。
And there were daughters older than the mothers who had borne them；
Being older in their wisdom； which is older than the earth； And they were
going forward only farther into darkness； Unrelieved as were the blasting
obligations of their birth； And among them； giving always what was not
for their possession； There were maidens； very quiet； with no quiet in their
eyes： There were daughters of the silence in the Valley of the Shadow；
Each an isolated item in the family sacrifice。
There were creepers among catacombs where dull regrets were torches；
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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
Giving light enough to show them what was there upon the shelves
Where there was more for them to see than pleasure would remember Of
something that had been alive and once had been themselves。 There were
some who stirred the ruins with a solid imprecation； While as many fled
repentance for the promise of despair： There were drinkers of wrong
waters in the Valley of the Shadow； And all the sparkling ways were dust
that once had led them there。
There were some who knew the steps of Age incredibly beside them；
And his fingers upon shoulders that had never felt the wheel； And their
last of empty trophies was a gilded cup of nothing； Which a contemplating
vagabond would not have come to steal。 Long and often had they figured
for a larger valuation； But the size of their addition was the balance of a
doubt： There were gentlemen of leisure in the Valley of the Shadow； Not
allured by retrospection； disenchanted； and played out。
And among the dark endurances of unavowed reprisals There were
silent eyes of envy that saw little but saw well； And over beauty's
aftermath of hazardous ambitions There were tears for what had vanished
as they vanished where they fell。 Not assured of what was theirs； and
always hungry for the nameless； There were some whose only passion was
for Time who made them cold： There were numerous fair women in the
Valley of the Shadow； Dreaming rather less of heaven than of hell when
they were old。
Now and then； as if to scorn the common touch of common sorrow；
There were some who gave a few the distant pity of a smile； And another
cloaked a soul as with an ash of human embers； Having covered thus a
treasure that would last him for a while。 There were many by the presence
of the many disaffected； Whose exemption was included in the weight that
others bore： There were seekers after darkness in the Valley of the Shadow；
And they alone were there to find what they were looking for。
So they were； and so they are； and as they came are coming others；
And among them are the fearless and the meek and the unborn； And a
question that has held us heretofore without an answer May abide without
an answer until all have ceased to mourn。 For the children of the dark are
more to name than are the wretched； Or the broken； or the weary； or the
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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
baffled； or the shamed： There are builders of new mansions in the Valley
of the Shadow； And among them are the dying and the blinded and the
maimed。
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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Wandering Jew
I saw by looking in his eyes That they remembered everything； And
this was how I came to know That he was here； still wandering。 For
though the figure and the scene Were never to be reconciled； I knew the
man as I had known His image when I was a child。
With evidence at every turn； I should have held it safe to guess That all
the newness of New York Had nothing new in loneliness； Yet here was one
who might be Noah； Or Nathan； or Abimelech； Or Lamech； out of ages
lost； Or； more than all； Melchizedek。
Assured that he was none of these； I gave them back their names again；
To scan once more those endless eyes Where all my questions ended then。
I found in them what they revealed That I shall not live to forget； And
wondered if they found in mine Compassion that I might regret。
Pity； I learned； was not the least Of time's offending benefits That had
now for so long impugned The conservation of his wits： Rather it was that
I should yield； Alone； the fealty that presents The tribute of a tempered ear
To an untempered eloquence。
Before I pondered long enough On whence he came and who he was； I
trembled at his ringing wealth Of manifold anathemas； I wondered； while
he seared the world； What new defection ailed the race； And if it mattered
how remote Our fathers were from such a place。
Before there was an hour for me To contemplate with less concern The
crumbling realm awaiting us Than his that was beyond return； A dawning
on the dust of years Had shaped with an elusive light Mirages of
remembered scenes That were no longer for the sight。
For now the gloom that hid the man Became a daylight on his wrath；
And one wherein my fancy viewed New lions ramping in his path。 The old
were dead and had no fangs； Wherefore he loved them seeing not They
were the same that in their time Had eaten everything they caught。
The world around him was a gift Of anguish to his eyes and ears； And
one that he had long reviled As fit for devils； not for seers。 Where； then；
was there a place for him That on this other side of death Saw nothing
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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
good； as he had seen No good come out of Nazareth？
Yet here there was a reticence； And I believe his only one； That hushed
him as if he beheld A Presence that would not be gone。 In such a silence
he confessed How much there was to be denied； And he would look at me
and live； As others might have looked and died。
As if at last he knew again That he had always known； his eyes Were
like to those of one who gazed On those of One who never dies。 For such
a moment he revealed What life has in it to be lost； And I could ask if
what I saw； Before me there； was man or ghost。
He may have died so many times That all there was of him to see Was
pride； that kept itself alive As too rebellious to be free； He may have told；
when more than once Humility seemed imminent； How many a lonely
time in vain The Second Coming came and went。
Whether he still defies or not The failure of an angry task That
relegates him out of time To chaos； I can only ask。 But as I knew him； so
he was； And somewhere among men to…day Those old； unyielding eyes
may flash； And flinch and look the other way。
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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson
Neighbors
As often as we thought of her； We thought of a gray life That made a
quaint economist Of a wolf…haunted wife； We made the best of all she bore
That was not ours to bear； And honored her for wearing things That were
not things to wear。
