Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/72

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BEWICK FINZER

He may be near us, dreaming yet Of unrepented rouge and coral;Or in a grave without a name May be as far off as a moral.

BEWICK FINZER

Time was when his half million drew The breath of six per cent;But soon the worm of what-was-not Fed hard on his content;And something crumbled in his brain When his half million went.
Time passed, and filled along with his The place of many more;Time came, and hardly one of us Had credence to restore,From what appeared one day, the man Whom we had known before.
The broken voice, the withered neck, The coat worn out with care,The cleanliness of indigence, The brilliance of despair,The fond imponderable dreams Of affluence, all were there.
Poor Finzer, with his dreams and schemes, Fares hard now in the race,With heart and eye that have a task When he looks in the faceOf one who might so easily Have been in Finzer's place.

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