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Edwin Arlington Robinson - Three Quatrains


As long as Fame's imperious music rings 
Will poets mock it with crowned words august; 
And haggard men will clamber to be kings 
As long as Glory weighs itself in dust. 


Drink to the splendor of the unfulfilled, 
Nor shudder for the revels that are done: 
The wines that flushed Lucullus are all spilled, 
The strings that Nero fingered are all gone. 


We cannot crown ourselves with everything, 
Nor can we coax the Fates for us to quarrel: 
No matter what we are, or what we sing, 
Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel. 

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Added: Jun 3 2005 | Viewed: 5149 times | Comments and analysis of Three Quatrains by Edwin Arlington Robinson Comments (0)

Three Quatrains - Comments and Information

Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson
Poem: Three Quatrains
Poem of the Day: Sep 3 2006
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