Edwin Arlington Robinson

Many Are Called

Apollo never died

Unlike other Olympian gods, Apollo has no death myth—he's immortal even within mythology. Robinson's using him as the god of poetry and inspiration.

The Lord Apollo, who has never died,
Still holds alone his immemorial reign,
Supreme in an impregnable domain
That with his magic he has fortified;
And though melodious multitudes have tried

melodious multitudes

The poets themselves—'melodious' because they write music with words. They've tried every emotional register to summon inspiration.

In ecstacy, in anguish, and in vain,
With invocation sacred and profane
To lure him, even the loudest are outside.

unconjectured intervals

You can't predict when inspiration strikes. 'Unconjectured' means beyond guessing or theorizing—completely unpredictable.

Only at unconjectured intervals,
By will of Him on whom no man may gaze,

no man may gaze

Biblical echo—Moses couldn't look directly at God and live (Exodus 33:20). Poetic inspiration has the same dangerous, untouchable quality.

By word of Him whose law no man has read,
A questing light may rift the sullen walls,
To cling where mostly its infrequent rays

patience of the dead

The poets who died without achieving greatness, or without recognition. Apollo's light falls on them 'mostly'—they're the real recipients of rare inspiration.

Fall golden on the patience of the dead.
The New RepublicEdwin Arlington Robinson
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The Sonnet's Two Gods

Robinson performs a theological sleight of hand in this sonnet. The octave gives us Apollo, the Greek god of poetry, holding his 'impregnable domain' against all poets who try to storm it. But line 10 suddenly shifts to 'Him' with a capital H—the Judeo-Christian God. Apollo hasn't disappeared; he's become a fortress that this other deity occasionally breaches.

The shift matters because it changes what the poem is about. Apollo represents technique, craft, the learnable parts of poetry—the domain you can fortify with skill. But true inspiration, the 'questing light' that makes great poetry, comes from somewhere else entirely. It arrives at 'unconjectured intervals' by divine will, not poetic effort.

Notice who receives this light: 'the patience of the dead.' Not the 'loudest' poets, not those crying out in 'ecstacy' or 'anguish.' The light falls 'mostly' on poets who died waiting—either literally dead, or those whose work died unrecognized. Robinson, who struggled for recognition until his fifties, knew this patience firsthand. The poem's title, 'Many Are Called,' completes the biblical phrase: 'but few are chosen' (Matthew 22:14).

What 'Fortified' Means

Look at Robinson's word choice in line 4: Apollo has 'fortified' his domain 'with his magic.' This is paradoxical—magic doesn't need fortification. Gods don't build walls. But Robinson is describing the craft of poetry itself as both magical and defensive.

Every technical skill a poet masters—meter, rhyme, allusion, the 'melodious' qualities—becomes another stone in Apollo's wall. The better you get at the learnable parts of poetry, the more you realize they can't produce genius. The octave describes poets trying every approach ('sacred and profane') to break through, but craft alone keeps them 'outside.'

The sestet's 'sullen walls' are sullen because they're impersonal. Apollo isn't keeping you out maliciously; the walls just exist. Only something beyond Apollo—beyond craft—can 'rift' them open. That 'questing light' is active (it seeks), but it comes by 'will' and 'word' of a God whose 'law no man has read.' You can't learn the rules because there are no rules. Inspiration is grace, not achievement.