Steal Like an Artist

This afternoon immediately after finishing a second read of Steal Like an Artist, I revisited an unobtrusive Dover edition of 100 Best-Loved Poems in a vain attempt to shake the first two lines of "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" from my overwrought head. What did I discover? A poem entitled "Richard Cory" written in 1897 by American Edward Robinson.

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.


I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that my man Paul Simon "steals like an artist." There is nothing new under the sun.



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