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Edwin Arlington Robinson - Bon Voyage
Work rating: Low

Child of a line accurst  
  And old as Troy,  
Bringer of best and worst  
  In wild alloy—  
Light, like a linnet first,
  He sang for joy.  
  
Thrall to the gilded ease  
  Of every day,  
Mocker of all degrees  
  And always gay,
Child of the Cyclades  
  And of Broadway—  
  
Laughing and half divine  
  The boy began,  
Drunk with a woodland wine
  Thessalian:  
But there was rue to twine  
  The pipes of Pan.  
  
Therefore he skipped and flew  
  The more along,
Vivid and always new  
  And always wrong,  
Knowing his only clew  
  A siren song.  
  
Careless of each and all
  He gave and spent:  
Feast or a funeral  
  He laughed and went,  
Laughing to be so small  
  In the event.
  
Told of his own deceit  
  By many a tongue,  
Flayed for his long defeat  
  By being young,  
Lured by the fateful sweet
  Of songs unsung—  
  
Knowing it in his heart,  
  But knowing not  
The secret of an art  
  That few forgot,
He played the twinkling part  
  That was his lot.  
  
And when the twinkle died,  
  As twinkles do,  
He pushed himself aside
  And out of view:  
Out with the wind and tide,  
  Before we knew.
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