37. Verlaine. II. The Children of the Night. Robinson, Edwin Arlington. 1921. Collected Poems

Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921.

II. The Children of the Night

37. Verlaine

WHY do you dig like long-clawed scavengers
To touch the covered corpse of him that fled
The uplands for the fens, and rioted
Like a sick satyr with doom’s worshippers?
Come! let the grass grow there; and leave his verse	5
To tell the story of the life he led.
Let the man go: let the dead flesh be dead,
And let the worms be its biographers.

Song sloughs away the sin to find redress
In art’s complete remembrance: nothing clings	10
For long but laurel to the stricken brow
That felt the Muse’s finger; nothing less
Than hell’s fulfilment of the end of things
Can blot the star that shines on Paris now.