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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381355" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Llewellyn and the Tree</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Could he have made Priscilla share <br>The paradise that he had planned, <br>Llewellyn would have loved his wife <br>As well as any in the land. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Could he have made Priscilla cease<br>To goad him for what God left out, <br>Llewellyn would have been as mild <br>As any we have read about. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Could all have been as all was not, <br>Llewellyn would have had no story;<br>He would have stayed a quiet man <br>And gone his quiet way to glory. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But howsoever mild he was <br>Priscilla was implacable; <br>And whatsoever timid hopes<br>He built—she found them, and they fell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this went on, with intervals <br>Of labored harmony between <br>Resounding discords, till at last <br>Llewellyn turned—as will be seen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Priscilla, warmer than her name, <br>And shriller than the sound of saws, <br>Pursued Llewellyn once too far, <br>Not knowing quite the man he was. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The more she said, the fiercer clung<br>The stinging garment of his wrath; <br>And this was all before the day <br>When Time tossed roses in his path. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before the roses ever came <br>Llewellyn had already risen.<br>The roses may have ruined him, <br>They may have kept him out of prison. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And she who brought them, being Fate, <br>Made roses do the work of spears,— <br>Though many made no more of her<br>Than civet, coral, rouge, and years. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You ask us what Llewellyn saw, <br>But why ask what may not be given? <br>To some will come a time when change <br>Itself is beauty, if not heaven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One afternoon Priscilla spoke, <br>And her shrill history was done; <br>At any rate, she never spoke <br>Like that again to anyone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One gold October afternoon<br>Great fury smote the silent air; <br>And then Llewellyn leapt and fled <br>Like one with hornets in his hair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Llewellyn left us, and he said <br>Forever, leaving few to doubt him;<br>And so, through frost and clicking leaves, <br>The Tilbury way went on without him. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And slowly, through the Tilbury mist, <br>The stillness of October gold <br>Went out like beauty from a face.<br>Priscilla watched it, and grew old. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He fled, still clutching in his flight <br>The roses that had been his fall; <br>The Scarlet One, as you surmise, <br>Fled with him, coral, rouge, and all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Priscilla, waiting, saw the change <br>Of twenty slow October moons; <br>And then she vanished, in her turn <br>To be forgotten, like old tunes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So they were gone—all three of them,<br>I should have said, and said no more, <br>Had not a face once on Broadway <br>Been one that I had seen before. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The face and hands and hair were old, <br>But neither time nor penury<br>Could quench within Llewellyn’s eyes <br>The shine of his one victory. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The roses, faded and gone by, <br>Left ruin where they once had reigned; <br>But on the wreck, as on old shells,<br>The color of the rose remained. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">His fictive merchandise I bought <br>For him to keep and show again, <br>Then led him slowly from the crush <br>Of his cold-shouldered fellow men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“And so, Llewellyn,” I began— <br>“Not so,” he said; “not so at all: <br>I’ve tried the world, and found it good, <br>For more than twenty years this fall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“And what the world has left of me<br>Will go now in a little while.” <br>And what the world had left of him <br>Was partly an unholy guile. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“That I have paid for being calm <br>Is what you see, if you have eyes;<br>For let a man be calm too long, <br>He pays for much before he dies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Be calm when you are growing old <br>And you have nothing else to do; <br>Pour not the wine of life too thin<br>If water means the death of you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“You say I might have learned at home <br>The truth in season to be strong? <br>Not so; I took the wine of life <br>Too thin, and I was calm too long.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Like others who are strong too late, <br>For me there was no going back; <br>For I had found another speed, <br>And I was on the other track. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">“God knows how far I might have gone<br>Or what there might have been to see; <br>But my speed had a sudden end, <br>And here you have the end of me.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The end or not, it may be now <br>But little farther from the truth<br>To say those worn satiric eyes <br>Had something of immortal youth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He may among the millions here <br>Be one; or he may, quite as well, <br>Be gone to find again the Tree<br>Of Knowledge, out of which he fell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He may be near us, dreaming yet <br>Of unrepented rouge and coral; <br>Or in a grave without a name <br>May be as far off as a moral.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edwin+Arlington+Robinson">Edwin Arlington Robinson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381355" data-title="Llewellyn and the Tree de Edwin Arlington Robinson" data-description="Could he have made Priscilla share 
The paradise that he had planned, 
Llewellyn would have loved his wife 
As well as any in the land. 

Could he have made Priscilla cease
To goad him for what God left out, 
Llewellyn would have been as mild 
As ..."></div>
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