The Corridor
Edwin Arlington Robinson
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, 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; 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 That year, to stop that hunger for a friend.
Next 10 Poems
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Dark Hills
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Dark House
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Dead Village
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The False Gods
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Field Of Glory
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Flying Dutchman
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Garden
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Gift Of God
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Growth Of 'lorraine'
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The House On The Hill
Previous 10 Poems
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Companion
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Clinging Vine
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Clerks
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Chorus Of Old Men In 'aegeus'
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Children Of The Night
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Burning Book
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Book Of Annandale
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : The Altar
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : Tasker Norcross
- Edwin Arlington Robinson : Tact