Welcome back to The Daily Poem here on the Close Reeds Podcast Network. I'm David Kern.

Today's poem is by Edwin Arlington Robinson, who lived from 1869 to 1935. And this poem,

which is called Miniver Chievy, is found in a collection that I have referenced quite often on this show,

especially in those first several episodes, those first few dozen episodes.

This is William Harmon's The Classic Hundred Poems' All-Time Favorites.

Robinson was an American poet who was from Maine, although he lived much of his life in New York City.

And William Harmon notes in his

introduction to his little section on Robinson that many of Robinson's early books were not

successful, but, quote, for the last 20 years of his life, he was among the most honored American

poets receiving three Pulitzer Prizes. The two poems in this collection are typical of Robinson's

strongest sort of verse,

incisive sketches of the blighted lives of those who may once have had some promise of

talent or enterprise, but who wind up to doom to small town, misery, end quote.

So here is Miniver Chievyvi. You may have heard it before. It was composed around 1905 and published in

1910. Miniver Chivi, child of scorn, grew lean while he assailed the seasons. He wept that he was

ever born and he had reasons. Miniver loved the days of old when swords were bright and

steeds were prancing.

The vision of a warrior bold would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not and dreamed and rested from his labors.

He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot and Priam's neighbors.

Minervor mourned of the ripe renown that made so many a name so fragrant.

He mourned romance, now on the town, an art, a vagrant. Miniver loved the Medici, albeit he had

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