Here you will find the Poem Verlaine of poet Edwin Arlington Robinson
Why do you dig like long-clawed scavengers To touch the covered corpse of him that fled The uplands for the fens, and rioted Like a sick satyr with doom?s worshippers? Come! let the grass grow there; and leave his verse To tell the story of the life he led. Let the man go: let the dead flesh be dead, And let the worms be its biographers. Song sloughs away the sin to find redress In art?s complete remembrance: nothing clings For long but laurel to the stricken brow That felt the Muse?s finger; nothing less Than hell?s fulfilment of the end of things Can blot the star that shines on Paris now.