 | Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay |  |
IV. In Praise of Gloriana's Remarkable Golden Hair
The gleaming head of one fine friend
Is bent above my little song,
So through the treasure-pits of Heaven
In fancy's shoes, I march along.
Is bent above my little song,
So through the treasure-pits of Heaven
In fancy's shoes, I march along.
I wander, seek and peer and ponder
In Splendor's last ensnaring lair—
'Mid burnished harps and burnished crowns
Where noble chariots gleam and flare:
In Splendor's last ensnaring lair—
'Mid burnished harps and burnished crowns
Where noble chariots gleam and flare:
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Amid the spirit-coins and gems,
The plates and cups and helms of fire—
The gorgeous treasure-pits of Heaven—
Where angel-misers slake desire!
The plates and cups and helms of fire—
The gorgeous treasure-pits of Heaven—
Where angel-misers slake desire!
O endless treasure-pits of gold
Where silly angel-men make mirth—
I think that I am there this hour,
Though walking in the ways of earth!
Where silly angel-men make mirth—
I think that I am there this hour,
Though walking in the ways of earth!
| Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay | |