Richard
Cory
Whenever Richard
Cory went down town,
We people on the
pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman
from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and
imperially slim.
And he was always
quietly arrayed,
And he was always
human when he talked;
But still he
fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he
glittered when he walked.
And he was
rich—yes,
richer than a king—
And admirably
schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought
that he was everything
To make us wish that
we were in his place.
So on we worked, and
waited for the light,
And went without the
meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory,
one calm summer night,
Went home and
put a bullet through his head.
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