Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921.
V. The Town Down the River16. But for the Grace of God
T
And ask again:
What hunger was half-hidden by the mask
That he wore then?
That I said not;
And in the past there was another day
That I forgot:
Racked overhead,—
As if the world were turning the wrong way,
And the sun dead:
Now he is gone.
What then? Has memory no other stuff
To seize upon?
In his despair,
Would he be more contented in the slough
If all were there?
Into the room;
And when he left, a tinge of something bright
Survived the gloom.
And not with me?
The hours that are my life are mine, not his,—
Or used to be.
Has he at hand,
Far-flying and forlorn as what they tell
At his command?
Can he possess,
That he may speak from anywhere on earth
His loneliness?
In the old net?—
He brought a sorry sunbeam with him then,
But it beams yet.