The Corridor

Poem By Edwin Arlington Robinson

It may have been the pride in me for aught
I know, or just a patronizing whim;
But call it freak of fancy, or what not,
I cannot hide the hungry face of him.

I keep a scant half-dozen words he said,
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.

I knew it and I knew it all along,--
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.

I knew it, and he knew it, I believe,
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.

Comments about The Corridor

He misses his old friend, a hungry man. He remembers a few words he said, and he has now lost all contact with him. Life is like that. Who does not feel sometimes ' hunger for a friend? '


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Other poems of ROBINSON

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Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

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The Deacon thought. “I know them,” he began,
“And they are all you ever heard of them—
Allurable to no sure theorem,
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We parted where the old gas-lamp still burned
Under the wayside maple and walked on,
Into the dark, as we had always done;
And I, no doubt, if he had not returned,

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Traveller, do not pity me;
Though I be among the dead,
Let no mournful word be said.

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Strange that I did not know him then.
That friend of mine!
I did not even show him then
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As we the withered ferns
By the roadway lying,
Time, the jester, spurns
All our prayers and prying --