All Poems
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Incense
© Vachel Lindsay
Think not that incense-smoke has had its day.
My friends, the incense-time has but begun.
Creed upon creed, cult upon cult shall bloom,
Shrine after shrine grow gray beneath the sun.
When Bryan Speaks
© Vachel Lindsay
When Bryan speaks, the town's a hive.
From miles around, the autos drive.
The sparrow chirps. The rooster crows.
The place is kicking and alive.
How Samson Bore Away the Gates of Gaza
© Vachel Lindsay
The air was black, like the smoke of a dragon.
Samson's heart was as big as a wagon.
He sang like a shining golden fountain.
He sweated up to the top of the mountain.
He threw down the gates with a noise like judgment.
And the quails all ran with the big arousement.
The Thorn Forest
© Dante Alighieri
Then dark with dripping blood it gave a howl
and cried again: "Our damaged branches ache!
Your pillage maims me! Can't you feel at all?
The Wizard in the Street
© Vachel Lindsay
I love him in this blatant, well-fed place.
Of all the faces, his the only face
Beautiful, tho' painted for the stage,
Lit up with song, then torn with cold, small rage,
Shames that are living, loves and hopes long dead,
Consuming pride, and hunger, real, for bread.
The Proud Farmer
© Vachel Lindsay
Into the acres of the newborn state
He poured his strength, and plowed his ancient name,
And, when the traders followed him, he stood
Towering above their furtive souls and tame.
Injuries from those to whom Thou hast been Kind
© Theocritus
See the result of my favours!
It is like rearing wolf-whelps or dogs --
To rend you for your pains.
The Meal And Cruse Of Oil
© John Newton
By the poor widow's oil and meal
Elijah was sustained;
Though small the stock it lasted well,
For God the store maintained.
How a Little Girl Sang
© Vachel Lindsay
Ah, she was music in herself,
A symphony of joyousness.
She sang, she sang from finger tips,
From every tremble of her dress.
From The Spanish Of Villegas
© William Cullen Bryant
'Tis sweet, in the green Spring,
To gaze upon the wakening fields around;
Birds in the thicket sing,
Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground;
A thousand odours rise,
Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.
Tears At The Grave Of Sir Albertus Morton (Who Was Buried At Southampton) Wept By Sir H. Wotton.
© Sir Henry Wotton
Silence (in truth) would speak my sorrow best,
For, deepest wounds can least their feelings tell;
Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest,
But time to bid him, whom I lov'd, farewel.
Aladdin and the Jinn
© Vachel Lindsay
"Bring me soft song," said Aladdin.
"This tailor-shop sings not at all.
Chant me a word of the twilight,
Of roses that mourn in the fall.
A Prayer to All the Dead among Mine Own People
© Vachel Lindsay
Are these your presences, my clan from Heaven?
Are these your hands upon my wounded soul?
Mine own, mine own, blood of my blood be with me,
Fly by my path till you have made me whole!
Shanghaied
© Harry Kemp
Shanghaied! . . . I swore I'd stay ashore
And sail the wide, wide seas no more! . . .
Shanghaied! Shanghaied!
Shanghaied - with pals I've never known,
And my heart's as heavy as a stone . . .
Shanghaied! . . . Shanghaied!
On the Road to Nowhere
© Vachel Lindsay
On the road to nowhere
What wild oats did you sow
When you left your father's house
With your cheeks aglow?
The Drunkard's Funeral
© Vachel Lindsay
"You are right, little sister," I said to myself,
"You are right, good sister," I said.
"Though you wear a mussy bonnet
On your little gray head,
You are right, little sister," I said.
The Queen of Bubbles
© Vachel Lindsay
The Youth speaks: :
"Why do you seek the sun
In your bubble-crown ascending?
Your chariot will melt to mist.
Your crown will have an ending."
The Booker Washington Trilogy
© Vachel Lindsay
His fist was an enormous size
To mash poor niggers that told him lies:
He was surely a witch-man in disguise.
But he went down to the Devil.
