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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. |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |