Car poems
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The Broncho That Would Not Be Broken
© Vachel Lindsay
A little colt broncho, loaned to the farm
To be broken in time without fury or harm,
Yet black crows flew past you, shouting alarm,
Calling "Beware," with lugubrious singing...
The Ghosts of the Buffaloes
© Vachel Lindsay
Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry,
The windows were shaking, there was thunder on high,
The floor was a-tremble, the door was a-jar,
White fires, crimson fires, shone from afar.
Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress
© Vachel Lindsay
The arts are old, old as the stones
From which man carved the sphinx austere.
Deep are the days the old arts bring:
Ten thousand years of yesteryear.
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.
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 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.
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. . . .
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.
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
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,
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.
The Settle An The Girt Wood Vire
© William Barnes
Ah! naïghbour John, since I an' you
Wer youngsters, ev'ry thing is new.
Darling Daughter of Babylon
© Vachel Lindsay
Too soon you wearied of our tears.
And then you danced with spangled feet,
Leading Belshazzar's chattering court
A-tinkling through the shadowy street.
Popcorn, Glass Balls, and Cranberries
© Vachel Lindsay
The Lion is a kingly beast.
He likes a Hindu for a feast.
And if no Hindu he can get,
The lion-family is upset.
The Cry Eternal
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
To hear this lone and this most stricken call
Of all earth's prayers that pierce the eternal height
And by the closéd doors of Heaven fall
What woman's heart can bear it through the night?
A Curse for Kings
© Vachel Lindsay
A curse upon each king who leads his state,
No matter what his plea, to this foul game,
And may it end his wicked dynasty,
And may he die in exile and black shame.
The Brave Days To Be.
© Arthur Henry Adams
I looked far in the future; down the dim
Echoless avenue of silent years,
And through the cold grey haze of Time I saw
The fair fulfilment of my spacious dream.
