"Miniver Cheevy" is a narrative poem written by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Edwin Arlington Robinson

Edwin Arlington Robinson was an American poet who won three Pulitzer Prizes for his work.- Biography :Robinson was born in Head Tide, Lincoln County, Maine, but his family moved to Gardiner, Maine, in 1870...

 and first published in The Town down the River in 1910. The poem, written in iambic tetrameter quatrains, relates the story of a hopeless romantic who spends his days thinking about what might have been if only he had only been born earlier in time.

Some scholars have suggested that the character of Miniver is meant to be Robinson's self-aware skewering of his own sense of being an anachronism or throwback, but others have indicated that, while this may be true, Miniver also represents a critique of Robinson's culture in general. Regardless, the character portrait is similar to Robinson's Richard Cory

Richard Cory (poem)

"Richard Cory" is a narrative poem written by Edwin Arlington Robinson. It was first published in 1897.The poem describes a person who is wealthy, well educated, mannerly, and admired by the people in his town. Despite all this, he takes his own life...

in its presentation of a deeply discontented individual who is unable to integrate with society and is bent on self-destruction, albeit at different paces. Robinson's preoccupation with these sorts of characters is one of the reasons why some have dubbed him "America's poet laureate of unhappiness."

Text

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 mediaeval 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.

External links

• Critiques of this poem