In Edwin Arlington Robinson’s “For Arvia,” a man speaks directly to a pair of eyes that seem to look right through him. He feels scrutinized, maybe a little exposed, and he wants honesty: What do you actually see? Am I some strange, puzzling creature—a “Boojum,” as he jokes—or just ordinary company? The eyes don’t answer, but he imagines they have bigger thoughts to think, a whole world on their mind, and little time for his small worries. By the end, he accepts that silence. There’s tenderness here: he wishes fairness for her and for everyone who can’t share the quiet, golden wisdom he senses behind her gaze. The mood is gentle and self-conscious, mixing playful insecurity with a kind of wonder at another person’s inner life.
For Arvia — Summary
You Eyes, you large and all-inquiring Eyes, That look so dubiously into me, And are not satisfied with what you see, Tell me the worst and let us have no lies: Tell me the secret of your scrutinies, And of myself. Am I a Mystery? Am I a Boojum--or just Company? What do you say? What do you think, You Eyes? You say not; but you think, beyond a doubt; And you have the whole world to think about, With very little time for little things. So let it be; and let it all be fair-- For you, and for the rest who cannot share Your gold of unrevealed awakenings.