| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921. |
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| III. Captain Craig, Etc. |
| 6. The Growth of “Lorraine” |
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I
WHILE I stood listening, discreetly dumb, | |
| Lorraine was having the last word with me: | |
| “I know,” she said, “I know it, but you see | |
| Some creatures are born fortunate, and some | |
| Are born to be found out and overcome,— | 5 |
| Born to be slaves, to let the rest go free; | |
| And if I’m one of them (and I must be) | |
| You may as well forget me and go home. | |
| |
| “You tell me not to say these things, I know, | |
| But I should never try to be content: | 10 |
| I’ve gone too far; the life would be too slow. | |
| Some could have done it—some girls have the stuff; | |
| But I can’t do it: I don’t know enough. | |
| I’m going to the devil.”—And she went. | |
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II
I DID not half believe her when she said | 15 |
| That I should never hear from her again; | |
| Nor when I found a letter from Lorraine, | |
| Was I surprised or grieved at what I read: | |
| “Dear friend, when you find this, I shall be dead. | |
| You are too far away to make me stop. | 20 |
| They say that one drop—think of it, one drop!— | |
| Will be enough,—but I’ll take five instead. | |
| |
| “You do not frown because I call you friend, | |
| For I would have you glad that I still keep | |
| Your memory, and even at the end— | 25 |
| Impenitent, sick, shattered—cannot curse | |
| The love that flings, for better or for worse, | |
| This worn-out, cast-out flesh of mine to sleep.” | |
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