Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921.V. The Town Down the River
23. Miniver Cheevy
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam’s neighbors.
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the mediaeval grace
Of iron clothing.
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.