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Edwin Arlington Robinson - The Rat

As often as he let himself be seen 
We pitied him, or scorned him, or deplored 
The inscrutable profusion of the Lord 
Who shaped as one of us a thing so meanó 
Who made him human when he might have been
A rat, and so been wholly in accord 
With any other creature we abhorred 
As always useless and not always clean. 

Now he is hiding all alone somewhere, 
And in a final hole not ready then;
For now he is among those over there 
Who are not coming back to us again. 
And we who do the fiction of our share 
Say less of rats and rather more of men. 

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Added: Jun 3 2005 | Viewed: 2839 times | Comments and analysis of The Rat by Edwin Arlington Robinson Comments (0)

The Rat - Comments and Information

Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson
Poem: The Rat
Poem of the Day: May 23 2006
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