| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921. |
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| II. The Children of the Night |
| 35. On the Night of a Friend’s Wedding |
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| IF ever I am old, and all alone, | |
| I shall have killed one grief, at any rate; | |
| For then, thank God, I shall not have to wait | |
| Much longer for the sheaves that I have sown. | |
| The devil only knows what I have done, | 5 |
| But here I am, and here are six or eight | |
| Good friends, who most ingenuously prate | |
| About my songs to such and such a one. | |
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| But everything is all askew to-night,— | |
| As if the time were come, or almost come, | 10 |
| For their untenanted mirage of me | |
| To lose itself and crumble out of sight, | |
| Like a tall ship that floats above the foam | |
| A little while, and then breaks utterly. | |
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