| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921. |
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| V. The Town Down the River |
| 19. Doctor of Billiards |
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| Of all among the fallen from on high, | |
| We count you last and leave you to regain | |
| Your born dominion of a life made vain | |
| By three spheres of insidious ivory. | |
| You dwindle to the lesser tragedy— | 5 |
| Content, you say. We call, but you remain. | |
| Nothing alive gone wrong could be so plain, | |
| Or quite so blasted with absurdity. | |
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| You click away the kingdom that is yours, | |
| And you click off your crown for cap and bells; | 10 |
| You smile, who are still master of the feast, | |
| And for your smile we credit you the least; | |
| But when your false, unhallowed laugh occurs, | |
| We seem to think there may be something else. | |
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