Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921.
III. Captain Craig, Etc.13. The Corridor
I
I know, or just a patronizing whim;
But call it freak or fancy, or what not,
I cannot hide that hungry face of him.
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.
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.
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.