The Three Taverns(三家酒店)

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The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Three Taverns

A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Valley of the Shadow

There were faces to remember in the Valley of the Shadow, There were

faces unregarded, there were faces to forget; There were fires of grief and

fear that are a few forgotten ashes, There were sparks of recognition that

are not forgotten yet. For at first, with an amazed and overwhelming

indignation At a measureless malfeasance that obscurely willed it thus,

They were lost and unacquainted -- till they found themselves in others,

Who had groped as they were groping where dim ways were perilous.

There were lives that were as dark as are the fears and intuitions Of a

child who knows himself and is alone with what he knows; There were

pensioners of dreams and there were debtors of illusions, All to fail before

the triumph of a weed that only grows. There were thirsting heirs of

golden sieves that held not wine or water, And had no names in traffic or

more value there than toys: There were blighted sons of wonder in the

Valley of the Shadow, Where they suffered and still wondered why their

wonder made no noise.

There were slaves who dragged the shackles of a precedent unbroken,

Demonstrating the fulfilment of unalterable schemes, Which had been,

before the cradle, Time's inexorable tenants Of what were now the dusty

ruins of their father's dreams. There were these, and there were many who

had stumbled up to manhood, Where they saw too late the road they

should have taken long ago: There were thwarted clerks and fiddlers in the

Valley of the Shadow, The commemorative wreckage of what others did

not know.

And there were daughters older than the mothers who had borne them,

Being older in their wisdom, which is older than the earth; And they were

going forward only farther into darkness, Unrelieved as were the blasting

obligations of their birth; And among them, giving always what was not

for their possession, There were maidens, very quiet, with no quiet in their

eyes: There were daughters of the silence in the Valley of the Shadow,

Each an isolated item in the family sacrifice.

There were creepers among catacombs where dull regrets were torches,

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Giving light enough to show them what was there upon the shelves --

Where there was more for them to see than pleasure would remember Of

something that had been alive and once had been themselves. There were

some who stirred the ruins with a solid imprecation, While as many fled

repentance for the promise of despair: There were drinkers of wrong

waters in the Valley of the Shadow, And all the sparkling ways were dust

that once had led them there.

There were some who knew the steps of Age incredibly beside them,

And his fingers upon shoulders that had never felt the wheel; And their

last of empty trophies was a gilded cup of nothing, Which a contemplating

vagabond would not have come to steal. Long and often had they figured

for a larger valuation, But the size of their addition was the balance of a

doubt: There were gentlemen of leisure in the Valley of the Shadow, Not

allured by retrospection, disenchanted, and played out.

And among the dark endurances of unavowed reprisals There were

silent eyes of envy that saw little but saw well; And over beauty's

aftermath of hazardous ambitions There were tears for what had vanished

as they vanished where they fell. Not assured of what was theirs, and

always hungry for the nameless, There were some whose only passion was

for Time who made them cold: There were numerous fair women in the

Valley of the Shadow, Dreaming rather less of heaven than of hell when

they were old.

Now and then, as if to scorn the common touch of common sorrow,

There were some who gave a few the distant pity of a smile; And another

cloaked a soul as with an ash of human embers, Having covered thus a

treasure that would last him for a while. There were many by the presence

of the many disaffected, Whose exemption was included in the weight that

others bore: There were seekers after darkness in the Valley of the Shadow,

And they alone were there to find what they were looking for.

So they were, and so they are; and as they came are coming others,

And among them are the fearless and the meek and the unborn; And a

question that has held us heretofore without an answer May abide without

an answer until all have ceased to mourn. For the children of the dark are

more to name than are the wretched, Or the broken, or the weary, or the

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

baffled, or the shamed: There are builders of new mansions in the Valley

of the Shadow, And among them are the dying and the blinded and the

maimed.

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Wandering Jew

I saw by looking in his eyes That they remembered everything; And

this was how I came to know That he was here, still wandering. For

though the figure and the scene Were never to be reconciled, I knew the

man as I had known His image when I was a child.

With evidence at every turn, I should have held it safe to guess That all

the newness of New York Had nothing new in loneliness; Yet here was one

who might be Noah, Or Nathan, or Abimelech, Or Lamech, out of ages

lost, -- Or, more than all, Melchizedek.

Assured that he was none of these, I gave them back their names again,

To scan once more those endless eyes Where all my questions ended then.

I found in them what they revealed That I shall not live to forget, And

wondered if they found in mine Compassion that I might regret.

Pity, I learned, was not the least Of time's offending benefits That had

now for so long impugned The conservation of his wits: Rather it was that

I should yield, Alone, the fealty that presents The tribute of a tempered ear

To an untempered eloquence.

Before I pondered long enough On whence he came and who he was, I

trembled at his ringing wealth Of manifold anathemas; I wondered, while

he seared the world, What new defection ailed the race, And if it mattered

how remote Our fathers were from such a place.

Before there was an hour for me To contemplate with less concern The

crumbling realm awaiting us Than his that was beyond return, A dawning

on the dust of years Had shaped with an elusive light Mirages of

remembered scenes That were no longer for the sight.

For now the gloom that hid the man Became a daylight on his wrath,

And one wherein my fancy viewed New lions ramping in his path. The old

were dead and had no fangs, Wherefore he loved them -- seeing not They

were the same that in their time Had eaten everything they caught.

The world around him was a gift Of anguish to his eyes and ears, And

one that he had long reviled As fit for devils, not for seers. Where, then,

was there a place for him That on this other side of death Saw nothing

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

good, as he had seen No good come out of Nazareth?

Yet here there was a reticence, And I believe his only one, That hushed

him as if he beheld A Presence that would not be gone. In such a silence

he confessed How much there was to be denied; And he would look at me

and live, As others might have looked and died.

As if at last he knew again That he had always known, his eyes Were

like to those of one who gazed On those of One who never dies. For such

a moment he revealed What life has in it to be lost; And I could ask if

what I saw, Before me there, was man or ghost.

He may have died so many times That all there was of him to see Was

pride, that kept itself alive As too rebellious to be free; He may have told,

when more than once Humility seemed imminent, How many a lonely

time in vain The Second Coming came and went.

Whether he still defies or not The failure of an angry task That

relegates him out of time To chaos, I can only ask. But as I knew him, so

he was; And somewhere among men to-day Those old, unyielding eyes

may flash, And flinch -- and look the other way.

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Neighbors

As often as we thought of her, We thought of a gray life That made a

quaint economist Of a wolf-haunted wife; We made the best of all she bore

That was not ours to bear, And honored her for wearing things That were

not things to wear.

There was a distance in her look That made us look again; And if she

smiled, we might believe That we had looked in vain. Rarely she came

inside our doors, And had not long to stay; And when she left, it seemed

somehow That she was far away.

At last, when we had all forgot That all is here to change, A shadow on

the commonplace Was for a moment strange. Yet there was nothing for

surprise, Nor much that need be told: Love, with his gift of pain, had given

More than one heart could hold.

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Mill

The miller's wife had waited long, The tea was cold, the fire was dead;

And there might yet be nothing wrong In how he went and what he said:

"There are no millers any more," Was all that she had heard him say; And

he had lingered at the door So long that it seemed yesterday.

Sick with a fear that had no form She knew that she was there at last;

And in the mill there was a warm And mealy fragrance of the past. What

else there was would only seem To say again what he had meant; And

what was hanging from a beam Would not have heeded where she went.

And if she thought it followed her, She may have reasoned in the dark

That one way of the few there were Would hide her and would leave no

mark: Black water, smooth above the weir Like starry velvet in the night,

Though ruffled once, would soon appear The same as ever to the sight.

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Dark Hills

Dark hills at evening in the west, Where sunset hovers like a sound Of

golden horns that sang to rest Old bones of warriors under ground, Far

now from all the bannered ways Where flash the legions of the sun, You

fade -- as if the last of days Were fading, and all wars were done.

The Three Taverns A Book of Poems By Edwin Arlington Robinson

The Three Taverns

When the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii

Forum, and The Three Taverns. (Acts 28:15)

Herodion, Apelles, Amplias, And Andronicus? Is it you I see -- At last?

And is it you now that are gazing As if in doubt of me? Was I not saying

That I should come to Rome? I did say that; And I said furthermore that I

should go On westward, where the gateway of the world Lets in the

central sea. I did say that, But I say only, now, that I am Paul -- A prisoner

of the Law, and of the Lord A voice made free. If there be time enough To

live, I may have more to tell you then Of western matters. I go now to

Rome, Where Caesar waits for me, and I shall wait, And Caesar knows

how long. In Caesarea There was a legend of Agrippa saying In a light

way to Festus, having heard My deposition, that I might be free, Had I

stayed free of Caesar; but the word Of God would have it as you see it is --

And here I am. The cup that I shall drink Is mine to drink -- the moment or

the place Not mine to say. If it be now in Rome, Be it now in Rome; and if

your faith exceed The shadow cast of hope, say not of me Too surely or

too soon that years and shipwreck, And all the many deserts I have crossed

That are not named or regioned, have undone Beyond the brevities of our

mortal healing The part of me that is the least of me. You see an older man

than he who fell Prone to the earth when he was nigh Damascus, Where

the great light came down; yet I am he That fell, and he that saw, and he

that heard. And I am here, at last; and if at last I give myself to make

another crumb For this pernicious feast of time and men -- Well, I have

seen too much of time and men To fear the ravening or the wrath of either.

Yes, it is Paul you see -- the Saul of Tarsus That was a fiery Jew, and

had men slain For saying Something was beyond the Law, And in

ourselves. I fed my suffering soul Upon the Law till I went famishing, Not

knowing that I starved. How should I know, More then than any, that the

food I had -- What else it may have been -- was not for me? My fathers

and their fathers and their fathers Had found it good, and said there was no

other, And I was of the line. When Stephen fell, Among the stones that

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