New-York tribune., 1905-08-11
PRESIDENT LAUDS POET.
An appreciation of the Work Of
Ed1card arlington Robinson.
PRESIDENT Roosevelt, IN The Outlook

president Roosevelt. IN The Outlook
ra Inc twilight Of the poets has been especially
tIdy In America; for poetry is OF course one OF
t9oss arts in which the smallest amount of work
good work that is not of the highest class. The
ooIcn ed n OF the purple makes poem out OF verse
hard to account for the failure to produce in Amer
ters VIII en5 years "a bis poet who in the world Of let
,t ana l1id PAINTERS OF rank in the world of art
By Madison Cawen by Clinton T scoiIard @ & By 'If pT
3 Maurice d Egan and others, and, more rarely lit
BaIlsds Of Lost Haven Such book is Edward
It is ras.er curious that Mr.. Robnson's Volume
shouid 81 not have attracted more attention. There
lected IN this volume. and curious simplicity and
good faith all of which qualities diferentate them
There There Is in them just little Of the light that
objects described often have nebuous IN suen snt b
!! is not always necessary in order TO enjoy a poem
Of mathematical accuracy Indeed those Who ad
bTe the coorng Of Turner, those who like to read
HaGk 1a Tower came do not wish always to have the
presented to them with cold. hard definite
ment it is Inevitable that life should often appear
volume not suTs Saa tha andersahd a She
W6oe1er' put put lam am entirely sure like it.
IN Ine gray. empty houses from which life has gone
was written. 41ON'o ''i 'Ne mn
4asy The House Srs al is .Ba9 g3n' ana STsg siiu
There is nothing say.
The winds blow bleak and shriu:
'-:-I They all gone away.
= - Nor is there to-day
TO speak them good Ill;
There is nothing more say.
Why h is It th.I then we stray
They are all gone away.
APd our poor fancy-piay
There is nothing more say
There is ruin and decay
There Is nothing 10 say"
The next 'Richard Cory" illustrates
ancient but very profound philosophy of life with
sight. Those who feel poetry in their marrow and
fibre are the spiritual heirs of the ages; and it
whose poems could have been written only by one
american small town. should write his "Ballade OF
broken tlutes"-where "A lonely surge OF ancient
spray told Of an unforgetful ea'';-should write
the poem beginning:
Since Persia fell at Marathon
The yellow years have gathered fast;
Long centuries gone
and the very original on Amaryuis. the last
three lines of which
II ads 5sogsh g d5s the d Of the od were glad
To think that Amaryllis had grown od.''
THE Pity of the Leaves" the lines running:
T gD6s9 sg9R 5 thin tss Leaves that on the stones outside
what most Of US feel We have seen; and then again
of what we have only with the souTs eyes
Wilderness" which could have been written only
by man into whose heart there entered deep the
forests:
Come away come away there's frost along the marshes
ana the dead T 6aek Water S the Sn0ai ~eFo
There's moan across the iowland and wailing through
or diTge that sings send back to the arms of
There is nothing left but ashes where the crimson
Put of the summer Ianguor with that made
For the glory gone with flight can
To slopes OF valleys and the sounds Of other
Come away! come away you them calling
Calling us to come to them. and roam more.
over there beyond the ridges and the and tnat hes De-
There's an ann old ID song calling US to come.
Come away come away for the scenes we leave be
Are barren for the lights of and aname that's
And the lonely trees the warning OF the
That love and all the dreams love away beyond
The songs that call for US tonight they called fof
And the winds that blow the they have blown
But this viii end our wander for know the Joy
In the stranseness of homecoming faithful wo-
Come away there @ 7 S. %os.ns a,6 9O to cheer
over beyond the darkness there's window siean
And warm arm hearth waits for within, IN ,.,.
Come away awayor the rowing ea S %i q, human
There are no men vet can him when his hands are
There aq none w own his enity will
s u G1 be h una ana on the way less hrag the
For tb freedom that God gave and the dread We do
The frost that skps willow leaf will again be back
And tho 9o5 we cannot fly from is the doom we DO not
r--o,en mar that mock US a Wild. hard laugh
bat shreks and sinks and whmpers in the shriH NO
veruber rushes,
And the long full the lake.
Mr. Robinson has written in this little volume
not verse but poetry. Whether he has the power
of sustained flight remains TO De seen
CHURCH FIRE, BLESSING.