Sonnet

Poem By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Oh for a poet—for a beacon bright
To rift this changless glimmer of dead gray;
To spirit back the Muses, long astray,
And flush Parnassus with a newer light;
To put these little sonnet-men to flight
Who fashion, in a shrewd mechanic way,
Songs without souls, that flicker for a day,
To vanish in irrevocable night.

What does it mean, this barren age of ours?
Here are the men, the women, and the flowers,
The seasons, and the sunset, as before.
What does it mean? Shall there not one arise
To wrench one banner from the western skies,
And mark it with his name forevermore?

Comments about Sonnet

... this barren age of ours? Nice example of Italian sonnet. Well written and communicated. Sylva-Onyema Uba


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We people on the pavement looked at him:
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The Deacon thought. “I know them,” he began,
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We parted where the old gas-lamp still burned
Under the wayside maple and walked on,
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Though I be among the dead,
Let no mournful word be said.

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Strange that I did not know him then.
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I did not even show him then
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As we the withered ferns
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All our prayers and prying --