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Edwin Arlington Robinson - Fragment
Work rating: Low

Faint white pillars that seem to fade 
As you look from here are the first one sees 
Of his house where it hides and dies in a shade 
Of beeches and oaks and hickory trees. 
Now many a man, given woods like these, 
And a house like that, and the Briony gold, 
Would have said, "There are still some gods to please, 
And houses are built without hands, we`re told.

There are the pillars, and all gone gray. 
Briony`s hair went white. You may see 
Where the garden was if you come this way. 
That sun-dial scared him, he said to me; 
"Sooner or later they strike," said he, 
But he knew too much for the life he led.

And who knows all knows everything 
That a patient ghost at last retrieves; 
There`s more to be known of his harvesting 
When Time the thresher unbinds the sheaves; 
And there`s more to be heard than a wind that grieves 
For Briony now in this ageless oak, 
Driving the first of its withered leaves 
Over the stones where the fountain broke.
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