Sunday, September 11, 2005

Poetry: Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown
we people on the pavement looked at him.
He was a gentleman from sole to crown
clean favored and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed
and he was always human when he talked.
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes! - richer than a king.
and admirably schooled in every grace.
In fine, we thought that he was everything,
to make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked and waited for the light,
and went without the meat and cursed the bread.
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
went home and put a bullet through his head.

-Edwin Arlington Robinson

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