Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/37

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COLLECTED POEMS

"There may be room for ruin yet,And ashes for a wasted love;Or, like One whom you may forget,I may have meat you know not of.And if I'd rather live than weepMeanwhile, do you find that surprising?Why, bless my soul, the man's asleep!That's good. The sun will soon be rising."

BEN JONSON ENTERTAINS A MAN FROM STRATFORD

You are a friend then, as I make it out,Of our man Shakespeare, who alone of usWill put an ass's head in FairylandAs he would add a shilling to more shillings,All most harmonious,—and out of hisMiraculous inviolable increaseFills Ilion, Rome, or any town you likeOf olden time with timeless Englishmen;And I must wonder what you think of him—All you down there where your small Avon flowsBy Stratford, and where you're an Alderman.Some, for a guess, would have him riding backTo be a farrier there, or say a dyer;Or maybe one of your adept surveyors;Or like enough the wizard of all tanners.Not you—no fear of that; for I discernIn you a kindling of the flame that saves—The nimble element, the true caloric;I see it, and was told of it, moreover,By our discriminate friend himself, no other.Had you been one of the sad average,As he would have it,—meaning, as I take it,

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