Poems

I just wanted to share two of my favorite poems. As of today.


Miniver Cheevy 
By: Edwin Arlington Robinson

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 mediaeval 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.






Richard Cory
By: Edwin Arlington Robinson


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. 





I had to research the poem Richard Cory for Enriched English -- and let me tell you, it was intense. First I had to give a background on the poet.

Edwin had it rough, man.

Let me break it down.

1) His mother didn't want a son so Edwin was pushed to the side.
2) At the age of 11 he wrote a poem that said the following: 'Sometimes I wonder why I was even born'. I mean -- he was 11. I can understand a 14 year old saying that today, but it was like 1904 when Edwin was 11.
3) His older brother died of drug overdose.
4) Edwin had to drop out of Harvard to take care of his mother, who also ended up dying.
5) And then, to top it all off, his brother Herman stole Edwin's love, Emma.

Seriously, Herman?

That's just uncalled for.
Anyway, that's just what I was thinking about.

You can think about it if you want.
Or you can think about popsicles, because that's what I'm thinking about now.