Edwin Arlington Robinson: Miniver Cheevy

Miniver Cheevy

Edwin Arlington Robinson

Miniver Cheevy, 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.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown  That made so many a name so fragrant; He mourned Romance, now on the town,  And Art, a vagrant.
Miniver loved the Medici,  Albeit he had never seen one; He would have sinned incessantly  Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace  And eyed a khaki suit with loathing; He missed the mediæval grace  Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought,  But sore annoyed was he without it; Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,  And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born too late,  Scratched his head and kept on thinking; Miniver coughed, and called it fate,  And kept on drinking.