Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/355

  He was a good old man, and it was right
 * That he should have his fling.

And often, underneath the apple-trees,
 * When we surprised him in the summer time,

With what superb magnificence and ease
 * He sinned enough to make the day sublime!

And if he liked us there about his knees,
 * Truly it was no crime.

All summer long we loved him for the same
 * Perennial inspiration of his lies;

And when the russet wealth of autumn came,
 * There flew but fairer visions to our eyes—

Multiple, tropical, winged with a feathery flame,
 * Like birds of paradise.

So to the sheltered end of many a year
 * He charmed the seasons out with pageantry

Wearing upon his forehead, with no fear,
 * The laurel of approved iniquity.

And every child who knew him, far or near,
 * Did love him faithfully.



doubt you fought so long The cynic net you cast, The tyranny, the wrong, The ruin, they are past; And here you are at last, Your blood no longer vexed. The coffin has you fast, The clod will have you next.