Where a faint light shines alone, 
Dwells a Demon I have known. 
Most of you had better say 
"The Dark House," and go your way. 
Do not wonder if I stay.

For I know the Demon's eyes 
And their lure that never dies. 
Banish all your fond alarms, 
For I know the foiling charms 
Of her eyes and of her arms,

And I know that in one room 
Burns a lamp as in a tomb; 
And I see the shadow glide, 
Back and forth, of one denied 
Power to find herself outside.

There he is who was my friend, 
Damned, he fancies, to the end-- 
Vanquished, ever since a door 
Closed, he thought, for evermore 
On the life that was before.

And the friend who knows him best 
Sees him as he sees the rest 
Who are striving to be wise 
While a Demon's arms and eyes 
Hold them as a web would flies.

All the words of all the world, 
Aimed together, and then hurled, 
Would be stiller in his ears 
Than a closing of still shears 
On a thread made out of years.

But there lives another sound, 
More compelling, more profound; 
There's a music, so it seems, 
That assuages and redeems, 
More than reason, more than dreams.

There's a music yet unheard 
By the creature of the word, 
Though it matters little more 
Than a wave-wash on the shore-- 
Till a Demon shuts a door.

So, if he be very still 
With his Demon, and one will, 
Murmurs of it may be blown 
To my friend who is alone 
In a room that I have known.

After that from everywhere 
Singing life will find him there; 
And my friend, again outside, 
Will be living, having died. 

Added: on August 13th, 2005 at 7:25 AM | Viewed: 900 times | Comments (4)

Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson
Poem: The Dark House

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