Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/146

 He came to me and said, "I understand You are in love"—yes, that is what he said,— "But never mind, it won't last very long; It never does; we all get over it. We have this clinging nature, for you see The Great Bear shook himself once on a time And the world is one of many that let go." And yet the creature lives, and there you see him- And he would have this life no fairer thing Than a certain time for numerous marionettes To do the Dance of Death. Give him a rose, And he will tell you it is very sweet, But only for a day. Most wonderful! Show him a child, or anything that laughs, And he begins at once to crunch his wormwood And then runs on with his "realities." What does he know about realities, Who sees the truth of things almost as well As Nero saw the Northern Lights? Good gracious! Can't you do something with him? Call him something— Call him a type, and that will make him cry: One of those not at all unusual, Prophetic, would-be-Delphic manger-snappers That always get replaced when they are gone; Or one of those impenetrable men, Who seem to carry branded on their foreheads, "We are abstruse, but not quite so abstruse As possibly the good Lord may have wished;" One of those men who never quite confess That Washington was great;—the kind of man That everybody knows and always will,— Shrewd, critical, facetious, insincere, And for the most part harmless, I'm afraid. But even then, you might be doing well To tell him something.'—And I said I would.