Calverly’s
We go no more to Calverly’s,For there the lights are few and low;And who are there to see by them,Or what they see, we do not know.Poor strangers of another tongueMay now creep in from anywhere,And we, forgotten, be no moreThan twilight on a ruin there.
We two, the remnant. All the restAre cold and quiet. You nor I,Nor fiddle now, nor flagon-lid,May ring them back from where they lie.No fame delays oblivionFor them, but something yet survives:A record written fair, could weBut read the book of scattered lives.
There’ll be a page for Leffingwell,And one for Lingard, the Moon-calf;And who knows what for Clavering,Who died because he couldn’t laugh?Who knows or cares? No sign is here,No face, no voice, no memory;No Lingard with his eerie joy,No Clavering, no Calverly.
We cannot have them here with usTo say where their light lives are gone,Or if they be of other stuffThan are the moons of Ilion.So, be their place of one estateWith ashes, echoes, and old wars,--Or ever we be of the night,Or we be lost among the stars.
Words in this poem
- oblivion n.
- The act of forgetting, or the state of being forgotten; cessation of remembrance; forgetfulness. [L. oblivio, akin to oblivisci to forget: cf. OF. oblivion.]
- eerie a.
- Serving to inspire fear, esp. a dread of seeing ghosts; wild; weird; as, eerie stories. [Scotch, fr. AS. earh timid.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Calverly’s is in the public domain. This text is taken from The town down the river, Project Gutenberg ebook #76699; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Edwin Arlington Robinson, Calverly’s, in The Town Down the River (1910), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #76699, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/robinson-town-down-river/calverly-s.html, id L17185.
Form and metre
Calverly’s is 32 lines in 4 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 98% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.0 syllables. 3 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 25% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A-B-B calverly's · lowA · them · knowA · tongue · anywhereB · more · thereB
- 2 -A-A-BAB rest · iA · lid · lieA · oblivion · survivesB · weA · livesB
- 3 -A-A---- leffingwell · calfA · clavering · laughA · here · memory · joy · calverly
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| We go no more to Calverly’s, | 8 | ········ |
| For there the lights are few and low; | 8 | ········ |
| And who are there to see by them, | 8 | ········ |
| Or what they see, we do not know. | 8 | ········ |
| Poor strangers of another tongue | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| May now creep in from anywhere, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And we, forgotten, be no more | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Than twilight on a ruin there. | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| We two, the remnant. All the rest | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Are cold and quiet. You nor I, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Nor fiddle now, nor flagon-lid, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| May ring them back from where they lie. | 8 | ········ |
| No fame delays oblivion | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘˘ |
| For them, but something yet survives: | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| A record written fair, could we | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| But read the book of scattered lives. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| There’ll be a page for Leffingwell, | 9 | /˘····/˘˘ |
| And one for Lingard, the Moon-calf; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And who knows what for Clavering, | 8 | ········ |
| Who died because he couldn’t laugh? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Who knows or cares? No sign is here, | 8 | ········ |
| No face, no voice, no memory; | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| No Lingard with his eerie joy, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| No Clavering, no Calverly. | 8 | ········ |
| We cannot have them here with us | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| To say where their light lives are gone, | 8 | ········ |
| Or if they be of other stuff | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Than are the moons of Ilion. | 7 | ······· |
| So, be their place of one estate | 8 | ······˘/ |
| With ashes, echoes, and old wars,-- | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Or ever we be of the night, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Or we be lost among the stars. | 8 | ········ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.