Richard Corey by Edwin Arlington 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.