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Edwin Arlington Robinson - Bokardo

Well, Bokardo, here we are; 
Make yourself at home. 
Look around—you haven’t far 
To look—and why be dumb? 
Not the place that used to be,
Not so many things to see; 
But there’s room for you and me. 
And you—you’ve come. 

Talk a little; or, if not, 
Show me with a sign
Why it was that you forgot 
What was yours and mine. 
Friends, I gather, are small things 
In an age when coins are kings; 
Even at that, one hardly flings
Friends before swine. 

Rather strong? I knew as much, 
For it made you speak. 
No offense to swine, as such, 
But why this hide-and-seek?
You have something on your side, 
And you wish you might have died, 
So you tell me. And you tried 
One night last week? 

You tried hard? And even then
Found a time to pause? 
When you try as hard again, 
You’ll have another cause. 
When you find yourself at odds 
With all dreamers of all gods,
You may smite yourself with rods— 
But not the laws. 

Though they seem to show a spite 
Rather devilish, 
They move on as with a might
Stronger than your wish. 
Still, however strong they be, 
They bide man’s authority: 
Xerxes, when he flogged the sea, 
May’ve scared a fish.

It’s a comfort, if you like, 
To keep honor warm, 
But as often as you strike 
The laws, you do no harm. 
To the laws, I mean. To you—
That’s another point of view, 
One you may as well indue 
With some alarm. 

Not the most heroic face 
To present, I grant;
Nor will you insure disgrace 
By fearing what you want. 
Freedom has a world of sides, 
And if reason once derides 
Courage, then your courage hides
A deal of cant. 

Learn a little to forget 
Life was once a feast; 
You aren’t fit for dying yet, 
So don’t be a beast.
Few men with a mind will say, 
Thinking twice, that they can pay 
Half their debts of yesterday, 
Or be released. 

There’s a debt now on your mind
More than any gold? 
And there’s nothing you can find 
Out there in the cold? 
Only—what’s his name?—Remorse? 
And Death riding on his horse?
Well, be glad there’s nothing worse 
Than you have told. 

Leave Remorse to warm his hands 
Outside in the rain. 
As for Death, he understands,
And he will come again. 
Therefore, till your wits are clear, 
Flourish and be quiet—here. 
But a devil at each ear 
Will be a strain?

Past a doubt they will indeed, 
More than you have earned. 
I say that because you need 
Ablution, being burned? 
Well, if you must have it so,
Your last flight went rather low. 
Better say you had to know 
What you have learned. 

And that’s over. Here you are, 
Battered by the past.
Time will have his little scar, 
But the wound won’t last. 
Nor shall harrowing surprise 
Find a world without its eyes 
If a star fades when the skies
Are overcast. 

God knows there are lives enough, 
Crushed, and too far gone 
Longer to make sermons of, 
And those we leave alone.
Others, if they will, may rend 
The worn patience of a friend 
Who, though smiling, sees the end, 
With nothing done. 

But your fervor to be free
Fled the faith it scorned; 
Death demands a decency 
Of you, and you are warned. 
But for all we give we get 
Mostly blows? Don’t be upset;
You, Bokardo, are not yet 
Consumed or mourned. 

There’ll be falling into view 
Much to rearrange; 
And there’ll be a time for you
To marvel at the change. 
They that have the least to fear 
Question hardest what is here; 
When long-hidden skies are clear, 
The stars look strange. 

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Added: Jun 3 2005 | Viewed: 1650 times | Comments and analysis of Bokardo by Edwin Arlington Robinson Comments (0)

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Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson
Poem: Bokardo
Poem of the Day: Feb 20 2012
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