Many are Called by Edwin Arlington Robinson

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

In ecstasy, in anguish, and in vain, / With invocation sacred and profane

To lure him, even the loudest are outside.

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

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

Fall golden on the patience of the dead.