Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921.
II. The Children of the Night7. Her Eyes
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Morning and midnight, to and fro,
Still was the room where his days he spent,
And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.
He suffered and strove till his eyes were dim,
For the love that his brushes had earned at last,
And the whole world rang with the praise of him.
Till his cheeks were sere and his hairs were gray.
“There are women enough, God knows,” he said …
“There are stars enough—when the sun’s away.”
That had held his dream in the long ago,
When he buried his days in a nameless tomb,
And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.
Seized him and held him until there grew
Like life on his canvas, glowing and fair,
A perilous face—and an angel’s too.
All but the eyes. They were there, but yet
They seemed somehow like a soul half done.
What was the matter? Did God forget? …
That her eyes were the eyes of a deathless woman,—
With a gleam of heaven to make them pure,
And a glimmer of hell to make them human.
There in that same still room of his,
For his wife, and his constant arbiter
Of the world that was and the world that is.
To punish him after that strife so grim;
But the longer he lives with her eyes to see,
The plainer it all comes back to him.