Firelight -- Edwin Arlington Robinson

(Poem #1874) Firelight Ten years together without yet a cloud They seek each other's eyes at intervals Of gratefulness to firelight and four walls For love's obliteration of the crowd. Serenely and perennially endowed And bowered as few may be, their joy recalls No snake, no sword; and over them there falls The blessing of what neither says aloud. Wiser for silence, they were not so glad Were she to read the graven tale of lines On the wan face of one somewhere alone; Nor were they more content could he have had Her thoughts a moment since of one who shines Apart, and would be hers if he had known. -- Edwin Arlington Robinson

For those familiar with Robinson's work, today's poem treads familiar
territory - he was at his best when depicting that class of people held up
to common admiration (and perhaps a little envy), and then taking a brief,
but devastating glance beneath the alluring surface.

It would be easy to call him cynical - very few poets manage to strip
humanity's various comfortable masks away as economically and effectively as
he does - but there is always a genuine strain of sympathy to his poetry, a
compelling sense of "there, but for the grace of God, go I", that belies any
such charge. Rather, I believe the import of his poetry is not "see these
men you have held up and adulated - rejoice, for they are no better off than
you", but instead, "you who have hidden your pain from the world beneath a
mask of gaiety, take comfort, for you are far from alone".

martin

[Links]

Wikipedia article:
  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edwin_Arlington_Robinson
  Edwin Arlington Robinson (December 22, 1869 - April 6, 1935) was an American
    poet, who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work.

For a lighter take on the theme, there's Christine Lavin's classic "Good Thing
He Can't Read My Mind":
  [broken link] http://www.christinelavin.com/00051501goodthing.html