| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921. |
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| II. The Children of the Night |
| 22. Charles Carville’s Eyes |
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| A MELANCHOLY face Charles Carville had, | |
| But not so melancholy as it seemed, | |
| When once you knew him, for his mouth redeemed | |
| His insufficient eyes, forever sad: | |
| In them there was no life-glimpse, good or bad, | 5 |
| Nor joy nor passion in them ever gleamed; | |
| His mouth was all of him that ever beamed, | |
| His eyes were sorry, but his mouth was glad. | |
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| He never was a fellow that said much, | |
| And half of what he did say was not heard | 10 |
| By many of us: we were out of touch | |
| With all his whims and all his theories | |
| Till he was dead, so those blank eyes of his | |
| Might speak them. Then we heard them, every word. | |
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