The Man Against The Sky

The Man Against The Sky

by Edwin Arlington Robinson
     
 

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Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935) was an American poet, who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work. In 1891, at the age of 21, he entered Harvard as a special student. He took classes on English, French, and Shakespeare, as well as one on Anglo- Saxon that he later dropped. His real desire was to get published in one of the Harvard literary journals. Within the… See more details below

Overview

Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935) was an American poet, who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work. In 1891, at the age of 21, he entered Harvard as a special student. He took classes on English, French, and Shakespeare, as well as one on Anglo- Saxon that he later dropped. His real desire was to get published in one of the Harvard literary journals. Within the first fortnight of being there, his Ballade of a Ship was published in the Harvard Advocate, a journal of less stature than the Heralded Harvard Monthly. In 1896 he self-published his first book, The Torrent and the Night Before, paying 100 dollars for 500 copies. It was meant to be a surprise for his mother. Days before the copies arrived, however, Mary Palmer Robinson died of diptheria. His second volume, The Children of the Night, had somewhat wider circulation. Gradually his literary successes began to mount. He won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for the years 1922, 1925 and 1928.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781407607351
Publisher:
HardPress Publishing
Publication date:
01/29/2010
Pages:
84
Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.17(d)

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HILLCREST (To Mrs. Edward Macdowell) No sound of any storm that shakes Old island walls with older seas Comes here where now September makes An island in a sea of trees. Between the sunlight and the shade A man may learn till he forgets The roaring of a world remade, And all his ruins and regrets; And if he still remembers here Poor fights he may have won or lost, If he be ridden with the fear Of what some other fight may cost, If, eager to confuse too soon, What he has known with what may be, He reads a planet out of tune For cause of his jarred harmony, If here he venture to unroll His index of adagios, And he be given to console Humanity with what he knows, He may by contemplation learn A little more than what he knew, And even see great oaks return To acorns out of which they grew. He may, if he but listen well, Through twilight and the silence here, Be told what there are none may tell To vanity's impatient ear; And he may never dare again Say what awaits him, or be sure What sunlit labyrinth of pain He may not enter and endure. Who knows to-day from yesterday May learn to count no thing too strange: Love builds of what Time takes away, Till Death itself is less than Change. Who sees enough in his duress May go as far as dreams have gone; Who sees a little may do less Than many who are blind have done; Who sees unchastened here the soul Triumphant has no other sight Than has a child who sees the whole World radiant with his own delight. Far journeys and hard wandering Await him in whose crude surmise Peace, like a mask, hides everything That is and has been from his eyes; And all his wisdom is unfound, Or like a web that error weaves On airy looms that have a sound Nolouder now than falling leaves. OLD...

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