THE WHIP
The doubt you fought so long, The cynic net you cast, The tyranny, the wrong, The ruin, they are past; And here you are at last, Your blood no longer vexed. The coffin has you fast, The clod will have you next.
Town down the river : a book of poems / by Edwin Arlington Robinson [electronic text]
About this Item
- Title
- Town down the river : a book of poems / by Edwin Arlington Robinson [electronic text]
- Author
- Robinson, Edwin Arlington, 1869-1935
- Publication
- New York: Charles Scribner's Sons
- 1910
- Rights/Permissions
The University of Michigan Library provides access to these materials for educational and research purposes. These materials are in the public domain in the United States. If you have questions about the collection please contact Digital Content & Collections at dlps-help@umich.edu, or if you have concerns about the inclusion of an item in this collection, please contact Library Information Technology at LibraryIT-info@umich.edu.
DPLA Rights Statement: No Copyright - United States
- Cite this Item
-
"Town down the river : a book of poems / by Edwin Arlington Robinson [electronic text]." In the digital collection American Verse Project. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/BAD9522.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 19, 2024.
Pages
Page 69
But fear you not the clod, Nor ever doubt the grave: The roses and the sod Will not forswear the wave. The gift the river gave Is now but theirs to cover: The mistress and the slave Are gone now, and the lover.
You left the two to find Their own way to the brink: Then—shall I call you blind?— You chose to plunge and sink. God knows the gall we drink Is not the mead we cry for, Nor was it, I should think— For you—a thing to die for.
Page 70
Could we have done the same, Had we been in your place?— This funeral of your name Throws no light on the case.— Could we have made the chase, And felt then as you felt?— But what's this on your face, Blue, curious, like a welt?
There were some ropes of sand Recorded long ago, But none, I understand, Of water. Is it so? And she—she struck the blow, You but a neck behind... You saw the river flow— Still, shall I call you blind?