Edwin Arlington Robinson - Mr Flood's Party
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Old Eben Flood, climbing alone one night
Over the hill between the town below
And the forsaken upland hermitage
That held as much as he should ever know
On earth again of home, paused warily.
The road was his with not a native near;
And Eben, having leisure, said aloud,
For no man else in Tilbury Town to hear:
"Well, Mr. Flood, we have the harvest moon
Again, and we may not have many more;
The bird is on the wing, the poet says,
And you and I have said it here before.
Drink to the bird." He raised up to the light
The jug that he had gone so far to fill,
And answered huskily: "Well, Mr. Flood,
Since you propose it, I believe I will."
Alone, as if enduring to the end
A valiant armor of scarred hopes outworn,
He stood there in the middle of the road
Like Roland's ghost winding a silent horn.
Below him, in the town among the trees,
Where friends of other days had honored him,
A phantom salutation of the dead
Rang thinly till old Eben's eyes were dim.
Then, as a mother lays her sleeping child
Down tenderly, fearing it may awake,
He set the jug down slowly at his feet
With trembling care, knowing that most things break;
And only when assured that on firm earth
It stood, as the uncertain lives of men
Assuredly did not, he paced away,
And with his hand extended paused again:
"Well, Mr. Flood, we have not met like this
In a long time; and many a change has come
To both of us, I fear, since last it was
We had a drop together. Welcome home!"
Convivially returning with himself,
Again he raised the jug up to the light;
And with an acquiescent quaver said:
"Well, Mr. Flood, if you insist, I might.
"Only a very little, Mr. Flood --
For auld lang syne. No more, sir; that will do."
So, for the time, apparently it did,
And Eben evidently thought so too;
For soon amid the silver loneliness
Of night he lifted up his voice and sang,
Secure, with only two moons listening,
Until the whole harmonious landscape rang --
"For auld lang syne." The weary throat gave out,
The last word wavered; and the song being done,
He raised again the jug regretfully
And shook his head, and was again alone.
There was not much that was ahead of him,
And there was nothing in the town below --
Where strangers would have shut the many doors
That many friends had opened long ago.
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Added: on February 24th, 2008 at 9:28 AM | Viewed: 13019 times |  Comments (12)
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Mr Flood's Party - Comments and Information
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Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson
Poem: Mr Flood's Party
Poem of the Day:
Jul 20 2000
Comment 12 of 12, added on July 3rd, 2008 at 10:19 PM.
well, take a deep breath, and upon exhaling, realize that, in the grandest of metaphors, Mr. Flood is all of us. We are all, at the very core of life, as "alone" as Mr. Flood appears to be to those who have commented thus far. What does it say about our cultures when "alone" is perceived to be such a bad thing. We always feel sorry for the person alone at a restaurant or movie ... why? We constantly strive to surround ourselves with others, and all too often, merely to distract us from the fact that we are "alone" - - - even in a crowd, we have all felt alienated, disaffected, or alone. Enough of the rant: if you've made it this far, to me; Mr. Flood is alone, and in a moment of gracious surrender to that existential angst, he chooses to embrace the feeling and reflect on a point that we all will arrive at - or die too early to understand. Goodnight Mr. Flood --- it's been a wonderful party!
Steve from United States
Comment 11 of 12, added on April 16th, 2008 at 11:49 PM.
Can someone please explain the allusion, "Auld Lang Syne"
Richard from United States
Comment 10 of 12, added on February 24th, 2008 at 9:28 AM.
As an Eben (yes, it's an old Yankee name, EH-ben, not EE-ben) I was delighted that in early 1984 our freshman English class at Anna Maria College in Paxton, Massachusetts, covered a poem about someone named Eben. That's all I'll say for now.
EBEN from United States
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well, take a deep breath, and upon exhaling, realize that, in the grandest of metaphors, Mr. Flood is all of us. We are all, at the very core of life, as "alone" as Mr. Flood appears to be to those who have commented thus far. What does it say about our cultures when "alone" is perceived to be such a bad thing. We always feel sorry for the person alone at a restaurant or movie ... why? We constantly strive to surround ourselves with others, and all too often, merely to distract us from the fact that we are "alone" - - - even in a crowd, we have all felt alienated, disaffected, or alone. Enough of the rant: if you've made it this far, to me; Mr. Flood is alone, and in a moment of gracious surrender to that existential angst, he chooses to embrace the feeling and reflect on a point that we all will arrive at - or die too early to understand. Goodnight Mr. Flood --- it's been a wonderful party!
Steve from United States