| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921. |
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| VIII. Avon’s Harvest, Etc. |
| 10. Afterthoughts |
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| WE parted where the old gas-lamp still burned | |
| Under the wayside maple and walked on, | |
| Into the dark, as we had always done; | |
| And I, no doubt, if he had not returned, | |
| Might yet be unaware that he had earned | 5 |
| More than earth gives to many who have won | |
| More than it has to give when they are gone— | |
| As duly and indelibly I learned. | |
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| The sum of all that he came back to say | |
| Was little then, and would be less today: | 10 |
| With him there were no Delphic heights to climb, | |
| Yet his were somehow nearer the sublime. | |
| He spoke, and went again by the old way— | |
| Not knowing it would be for the last time. | |
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