| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921. |
| |
| III. Captain Craig, Etc. |
| 13. The Corridor |
| |
| IT may have been the pride in me for aught | |
| I know, or just a patronizing whim; | |
| But call it freak or fancy, or what not, | |
| I cannot hide that hungry face of him. | |
| |
| I keep a scant half-dozen words he said, | 5 |
| And every now and then I lose his name; | |
| He may be living or he may be dead, | |
| But I must have him with me all the same. | |
| |
| I knew it, and I knew it all along,— | |
| And felt it once or twice, or thought I did; | 10 |
| But only as a glad man feels a song | |
| That sounds around a stranger’s coffin lid. | |
| |
| I knew it, and he knew it, I believe, | |
| But silence held us alien to the end; | |
| And I have now no magic to retrieve | 15 |
| That year, to stop that hunger for a friend. | |
|
|
