I say no more for Clavering <br />Than I should say of him who fails <br />To bring his wounded vessel home <br />When reft of rudder and of sails; <br /> <br />I say no more than I should say <br />Of any other one who sees <br />Too far for guidance of to-day, <br />Too near for the eternities. <br /> <br />I think of him as I should think <br />Of one who for scant wages played, <br />And faintly, a flawed instrument <br />That fell while it was being made; <br /> <br />I think of him as one who fared, <br />Unfaltering and undeceived, <br />Amid mirages of renown <br />And urgings of the unachieved; <br /> <br />I think of him as one who gave <br />To Lingard leave to be amused, <br />And listened with a patient grace <br />That we, the wise ones, had refused; <br /> <br />I think of metres that he wrote <br />For Cubit, the ophidian guest: <br />“What Lilith, or Dark Lady”… Well, <br />Time swallows Cubit with the rest. <br /> <br />I think of last words that he said <br />One midnight over Calverly: <br />“Good-by—good man.” He was not good; <br />So Clavering was wrong, you see. <br /> <br />I wonder what had come to pass <br />Could he have borrowed for a spell <br />The fiery-frantic indolence <br />That made a ghost of Leffingwell; <br /> <br />I wonder if he pitied us <br />Who cautioned him till he was gray <br />To build his house with ours on earth <br />And have an end of yesterday; <br /> <br />I wonder what it was we saw <br />To make us think that we were strong; <br />I wonder if he saw too much, <br />Or if he looked one way too long. <br /> <br />But when were thoughts or wonderings <br />To ferret out the man within? <br />Why prate of what he seemed to be, <br />And all that he might not have been? <br /> <br />He clung to phantoms and to friends, <br />And never came to anything. <br />He left a wreath on Cubit’s grave. <br />I say no more for Clavering.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/clavering/
