Verse > Edwin Arlington Robinson > Collected Poems > Index of First Lines
CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
  
Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935).  Collected Poems. 1921.
  
Index of First Lines

A melancholy face Charles Carville had
A flying word from here and there
A vanished house that for an hour I knew
All you that are enamored of my name
Alone, remote, nor witting where I went
Although I saw before me there the face
And there we were together again
And there you are again, now as you are
As often as we thought of her
As often as he let himself be seen
As eons of incalculable strife
As long as Fame’s imperious music rings
At first I thought there was a superfine
Aunt Imogen was coming, and therefore
 
Be calm? And was I frantic?
Because he puts the compromising chart
Because he was a butcher and thereby
Before there was in Egypt any sound
Between me and the sunset, like a dome
Blessed with a joy that only she
Blue in the west the mountain stands
By what serene malevolence of names
 
Child of a line accurst
Cliff Klingenhagen had me in to dine
Come away! come away! there’s a frost along the marshes
Confused, he found her lavishing feminine
Could he have made Priscilla share
 
Dark hills at evening in the west
Dear friends, reproach me not for what I do
Do I hear them? Yes, I hear the children singing—and what of it?
 
Faint white pillars that seem to fade
Fear, like a living fire that only death
For what we owe to other days
Foreguarded and unfevered and serene
Four o’clock this afternoon
Friendless and faint, with martyred steps and slow
From the Past and Unavailing
 
Gawaine, Gawaine, what look ye for to see
Gawaine, aware again of Lancelot
Give him the darkest inch your shelf allows
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal
Gone—faded out of the story, the sea-faring friend I remember?
 
Hamilton, if he rides you down, remember
He knocked, and I beheld him at the door
He took a frayed hat from his head
Here there is death. But even here, they say
Herodion, Apelles, Amplias
His words were magic and his heart was true
 
I heard one who said: Verily
I cannot find my way: there is no star
I found a torrent falling in a glen
I doubt if ten men in all Tilbury Town
I did not think that I should find them there
I met him, as one meets a ghost or two
I pray you not, Leuconoë, to pore
I saw by looking in his eyes
I say no more for Clavering
If ever I am old, and all alone
In Tilbury Town did Old King Cole
In dreams I crossed a barren land
Isaac and Archibald were two old men
It may have been the pride in me for aught
 
Just as I wonder at the twofold screen
 
Let him answer as he will
Like a dry fish flung inland far from shore
Long warned of many terrors more severe
Long after there were none of them alive
 
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn
My northern pines are good enough for me
 
Never mind the day we left, or the day the women clung to us
Never was there a man much uglier
No sound of any storm that shakes
No longer torn by what she knows
No matter why, nor whence, nor when she came
No more with overflowing light
No, no,—forget your Cricket and your Ant
No, Mary, there was nothing—not a word
Not even if with a wizard force I might
Nothing will hold him longer—let him go
Now in a thought, now in a shadowed word
Now you have read them all; or if not all
 
O’Leary was a poet—for a while
Observant of the way she told
Of all among the fallen from on high
Oh for a poet—for a beacon bright
Old Archibald, in his eternal chair
Old Eben Flood, climbing along one night
Once there was a cabin here, and once there was a man
Once, when I wandered in the woods alone
 
Pamela was too gentle to deceive
Partly to think, more to be left alone
 
Said the Watcher by the Way
Shall I never make him look at me again?
She fears him, and will always ask
She’d look upon us, if she could
Since Persia fell at Marathon
Since you remember Nimmo, and arrive
Slowly I smoke and hug my knee
Small knowledge have we that by knowledge met
So long adrift, so fast aground
Strange that I did not know him then
 
Take it away, and swallow it yourself
Tell me what you’re doing over here, John Gorham
Ten years together without yet a cloud
The ghost of Ninon would be sorry now
The master and the slave go hand in hand
The table hurled itself, to our surprise
The doubt you fought so long
The master played the bishop’s pawn
The palms of Mammon have disowned
The miller’s wife had waited long
The deacon thought. “I know them,” he began
The day was here when it was his to know
The Lord Apollo, who has never died
The man Flammonde, from God knows where
The man who cloaked his bitterness within
There be two men of all mankind
There is a fenceless garden overgrown
There is a drear and lonely tract of hell
There is a question that I ask
There were faces to remember in the Valley of the Shadow
They called it Annandale—and I was there
They are all gone away
They have made for Leonora this low dwelling in the ground
They met, and overwhelming her distrust
Think not, because I wonder where you fled
Though for your sake I would not have you now
Though not for common praise of him
Through the shine, through the rain
Time was when his half million drew
To the lore of no manner of men
Two brothers, Oakes and Oliver
Two men came out of Shannon’s, having known
 
Unyielding in the pride of his defiance
Up from the street and the crowds that went
Up the old hill to the old house again
 
Vengeful across the cold November moors
 
War shook the land where Levi dwelt
We thrill too strangely at the master’s touch
We parted where the old gas-lamp still burned
We are false and evanescent, and aware of our deceit
We go no more to Calverly’s
We told of him as one who should have soared
Well, Bokardo, here we are
When these graven lines you see
When he protested, not too solemnly
When he was here alive, Eileen
When he, who is the unforgiven
When in from Delos came the gold
When we can all so excellently give
Whenever Richard Cory went down town
Whenever I go by there nowadays
Where’s the need of singing now?
Where a faint light shines alone
Where are you going to-night, to-night
Whether all towns and all who live in them
While I stood listening, discreetly dumb
Why am I not myself these many days
Why do you dig like long-clawed scavengers
Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark
 
Ye gods that have a home beyond the world
Yes, you have it; I can see
You thought we knew, she said, but we were wrong
You Eyes, you large and all-inquiring Eyes
You are a friend then, as I make it out
You that in vain would front the coming order


CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

 
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