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Two Sonnets Post by :calljian Category :Poems Author :Edwin Arlington Robinson Date :March 2011 Read :2674

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Two Sonnets


Just as I wonder at the twofold screen
Of twisted innocence that you would plait
For eyes that uncourageously await
The coming of a kingdom that has been,
So do I wonder what God's love can mean
To you that all so strangely estimate
The purpose and the consequent estate
Of one short shuddering step to the Unseen.

No, I have not your backward faith to shrink
Lone-faring from the doorway of God's home
To find Him in the names of buried men;
Nor your ingenious recreance to think
We cherish, in the life that is to come,
The scattered features of dead friends again.


Never until our souls are strong enough
To plunge into the crater of the Scheme --
Triumphant in the flash there to redeem
Love's handsel and forevermore to slough,
Like cerements at a played-out masque, the rough
And reptile skins of us whereon we set
The stigma of scared years -- are we to get
Where atoms and the ages are one stuff.

Nor ever shall we know the cursed waste
Of life in the beneficence divine
Of starlight and of sunlight and soul-shine
That we have squandered in sin's frail distress,
Till we have drunk, and trembled at the taste,
The mead of Thought's prophetic endlessness.

(The end)
Edwin Arlington Robinson's poem: Two Sonnets

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The Clerks The Clerks

The Clerks
I did not think that I should find them there When I came back again; but there they stood, As in the days they dreamed of when young blood Was in their cheeks and women called them fair. Be sure, they met me with an ancient air, -- And yes, there was a shop-worn brotherhood About them; but the men were just as good, And just as human as they ever were.

The Dead Village The Dead Village

The Dead Village
Here there is death. But even here, they say, -- Here where the dull sun shines this afternoon As desolate as ever the dead moon Did glimmer on dead Sardis, -- men were gay; And there were little children here to play, With small soft hands that once did keep in tune The strings that stretch from heaven, till too soon The change came, and the music passed away.