Whenever Richard Cory went down town, <br />We people on the pavement looked at him: <br />He was a gentleman from sole to crown, <br />Clean favored, and imperially slim. <br /> <br />And he was always quietly arrayed, <br />And he was always human when he talked; <br />But still he fluttered pulses when he said, <br />'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked. <br /> <br />And he was rich - yes, richer than a king - <br />And admirably schooled in every grace: <br />In fine, we thought that he was everything <br />To make us wish that we were in his place. <br /> <br />So on we worked, and waited for the light, <br />And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; <br />And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, <br />Went home and put a bullet through his head.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/richard-cory/
