Edwin Arlington Robinson - George Crabbe lyrics

Give him the darkest inch your shelf allows, Hide him in lonely garrets, if you will, — But his hard, human pulse is throbbing still With the sure strength that fearless truth endows. In spite of all fine science disavows, Of his plain excellence and stubborn sk** There yet remains what fashion cannot k**, Though years have thinned the laurel from his brows. Whether or not we read him, we can feel From time to time the vigor of his name Against us like a finger for the shame And emptiness of what our souls reveal In books that are as altars where we kneel To consecrate the flicker, not the flame.