All Poems
/ page 2339 of 3210 /
On Opening An Old School Volume Of Horace
© Madison Julius Cawein
I HAD forgot how, in my day
The Sabine fields around me lay
In amaranth and asphodel,
With many a cold Bandusian well
The Santa-Fe Trail (A Humoresque)
© Vachel Lindsay
This is the order of the music of the morning:
First, from the far East comes but a crooning.
The crooning turns to a sunrise singing.
Hark to the calm -horn, balm -horn, psalm -horn.
Hark to the faint -horn, quaint -horn, saint -horn. . . .
Love's Mesmerism.
© Robert Crawford
When you are with me I put by the world
In having you. When I can hear and see you,
All else is dark and dumb; or is it, Sweet,
You then are all, and I the dreamer know
The Black Hawk War of the Artists
© Vachel Lindsay
Power to restore
All that the white hand mars.
See the dead east
Crushed with the iron cars
Chimneys black
Blinding the sun and stars!
An Argument
© Vachel Lindsay
I. THE VOICE OF THE MAN IMPATIENT WITH VISIONS AND UTOPIASWe find your soft Utopias as white
As new-cut bread, and dull as life in cells,
O, scribes who dare forget how wild we are
How human breasts adore alarum bells.
The Dover Bitch: A Criticism Of Life
© Anthony Evan Hecht
So there stood Matthew Arnold and this girl
With the cliffs of England crumbling away behind them,
Honor Among Scamps
© Vachel Lindsay
We are the smirched. Queen Honor is the spotless.
We slept thro' wars where Honor could not sleep.
We were faint-hearted. Honor was full-valiant.
We kept a silence Honor could not keep.
From "Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship" - Book V, Chap. X
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
SING no more in mournful tones
Of the loneliness of night;
The Empty Boats
© Vachel Lindsay
Why do I see these empty boats, sailing on airy seas?
One haunted me the whole night long, swaying with every breeze,
Returning always near the eaves, or by the skylight glass:
There it will wait me many weeks, and then, at last, will pass.
Weep Not For Him That Dieth
© Caroline Norton
I.
WEEP not for him that dieth--
For he sleeps, and is at rest;
And the couch whereon he lieth
Who Knows?
© Vachel Lindsay
They say one king is mad. Perhaps. Who knows?
They say one king is doddering and grey.
They say one king is slack and sick of mind,
A puppet for hid strings that twitch and play.
Along The Way English Translation
© Rabindranath Tagore
As I walk along my way
I receive your touch
His Brothers Keeper
© Henry Lawson
By his paths through the parched desolation,
Hot rides and the terrible tramps;
By the hunger, the thirst, the privation
Of his work in the further most camps.
Yet Gentle Will the Griffin Be
© Vachel Lindsay
(What Grandpa told the Children)
The moon? It is a griffin's egg,
Hatching to-morrow night.
And how the little boys will watch
The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky
© Vachel Lindsay
The Moon's the North Wind's cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
Well, You Neednt
© William Matthews
Rather than hold his hands properly
arched off the keys, like cats
with their backs up,
Monk, playing block chords,
hit the keys with his fingertips well
above his wrists,
By the Spring, at Sunset
© Vachel Lindsay
Sun in my face, wind beside my shoulder,
Streaming clouds, banners of new-born night
Enchant me now. The splendors growing bolder
Make bold my soul for some new wise delight.
A Ballad
© James Whitcomb Riley
Crowd about me, little children--
Come and cluster 'round my knee
While I tell a little story
That happened once with me.
Buddha
© Vachel Lindsay
Would that by Hindu magic we became
Dark monks of jeweled India long ago,
Sitting at Prince Siddartha's feet to know
The foolishness of gold and love and station,
