All Poems
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To Mary Pickford
© Vachel Lindsay
Mary Pickford, doll divine,
Year by year, and every day
At the movmg-picture play,
You have been my valentine.
A Song Of Summer Days
© Virna Sheard
As pearls slip off a silken string and fall into the sea,
These rounded summer days fall back into eternity.
A Lyrical Picture
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
SEE! See!
How the shadows steal along,
Blending in a golden throng,
Softly, lovingly;
The Sorceress!
© Vachel Lindsay
I asked her, "Is Aladdin's lamp
Hidden anywhere?"
"Look into your heart," she said,
"Aladdin's lamp is there."
The Boys And The Apple-Tree
© Ann Taylor
As William and Thomas were walking one day,
They came by a fine orchard's side:
They would rather eat apples than spell, read, or play,
And Thomas to William then cried:
Blanche Sweet
© Vachel Lindsay
MOVING-PICTURE ACTRESS(After seeing the reel called "Oil and Water.")
Beauty has a throne-room
In our humorous town,
Spoiling its hob-goblins,
The Spice-Tree
© Vachel Lindsay
The deep roots whisper,
The branches say:
"Love to-morrow,
And love to-day,
And till Heaven's day,
And till Heaven's day."
The Wedding of the Rose and the Lotos
© Vachel Lindsay
The wide Pacific waters
And the Atlantic meet.
With cries of joy they mingle,
In tides of love they greet.
Virginia
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
Fragments of a Lay Sung in the Forum on the Day Whereon Lucius Sextius Sextinus Lateranus and Caius Licinius Calvus Stolo Were Elected Tribunes of the Commons the Fifth Time, in the Year of the City CCCLXXXII.
Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true,
The Trap
© Vachel Lindsay
She was taught desire in the street,
Not at the angels' feet.
By the good no word was said
Of the worth of the bridal bed.
Niagara
© Vachel Lindsay
IWithin the town of Buffalo
Are prosy men with leaden eyes.
Like ants they worry to and fro,
(Important men, in Buffalo.)
What the Rattlesnake Said
© Vachel Lindsay
The moon's a little prairie-dog.
He shivers through the night.
He sits upon his hill and cries
For fear that I will bite.
Sonnet XXVI. In A Library. 1.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
IN my friend's library I sit alone,
Hemmed in by books. The dead and living there,
Shrined in a thousand volumes rich and rare,
Tower in long rows, with names to me unknown.
Michaelangelo
© Vachel Lindsay
Would I might wake in you the whirl-wind soul
Of Michelangelo, who hewed the stone
And Night and Day revealed, whose arm alone
Could draw the face of God, the titan high
A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief
© James Montgomery
A poor wayfaring Man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
My Lady in Her White Silk Shawl
© Vachel Lindsay
My lady in her white silk shawl
Is like a lily dim,
Within the twilight of the room
Enthroned and kind and prim.
The Haughty Snail-King
© Vachel Lindsay
Twelve snails went walking after night.
They'd creep an inch or so,
Then stop and bug their eyes
And blow.
Oh Fairest of the Rural Maids
© William Cullen Bryant
Oh fairest of the rural maids!
Thy birth was in the forest shades;
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,
Were all that met thy infant eye.
The Fairy Bridal-Hymn
© Vachel Lindsay
This is a song to the white-armed one
Cold in the breast as the frost-wrapped Spring,
Whose feet are slow on the hills of life,
Whose round mouth rules by whispering.
