Additional Information
BEWICK FINZER
by Edwin Arlington Robinson 1916
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Time was when his half million drew
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The breath of six per cent;
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But soon the worm of what-was-not
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Fed hard on his content;
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And something crumbled in his brain
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When his half million went.
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Time passed, and filled along with his
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The place of many more;
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Time came, and hardly one of us
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Had credence to restore,
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From what appeared one day, the man
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Whom we had known before.
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The broken voice, the withered neck,
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The coat worn out with care,
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The cleanliness of indigence,
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The brilliance of despair.
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The fond imponderable dreams
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Of affluence, -- all were there.
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Poor Finzer, with his dreams and schemes.
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Fares hard now in the race,
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With heart and eye that have a task
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Of one who might so easily
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Have been in Finzer’s place.
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He comes unfailing for the loan,
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We give and then forget;
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He comes, and probably for years
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Will he be coming yet, --
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Familiar as an old mistake,
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And futile as regret.