Robinson’s speaker addresses a group of survivors looking back on someone who has died. The title frames the piece as a departure, but its real subject is the guilt of those left behind. Their relationship with him was complicated: they gave him excessive praise, then recoiled when he appeared weak, and now they cannot question him or make amends directly. The speaker asks them to remember their own envy, their lost belief in him, and the hollowing effect of success that came too early. The mood is somber, guilty, and restrained—more reflective than dramatic. The poem does not claim to know the man’s inner life; instead, it insists that the living should admit how little they know. The closing line, “May we now venture to be kind,” feels both gentle and chastened: kindness is not a reward for understanding, but an honest response to silence and regret.
Exit — Summary
For what we owe to other days, Before we poisoned him with praise, May we who shrank to find him weak Remember that he cannot speak. For envy that we may recall, And for our faith before the fall, May we who are alive be slow To tell what we shall never know. For penance he would not confess, And for the fateful emptiness Of early triumph undermined, May we now venture to be kind.