 | Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay |  |
Her eyes were like two rays of the great moon,
When Mediterranean storms destroy the ships.
She looked at him. And the eyes of Antony,
Became the idiot eye-holes of a helmet,
The visor down. And his world-flashing sword
Was smoke and dust—his face a wavering flame.
When Mediterranean storms destroy the ships.
She looked at him. And the eyes of Antony,
Became the idiot eye-holes of a helmet,
The visor down. And his world-flashing sword
Was smoke and dust—his face a wavering flame.
In that dim court there stood the great iron scales;
“Scales of Justice,” known to souls to-day,
In one side, the Feather of Perfect Truth,
In the other—the heart of the waiting dead.
“Scales of Justice,” known to souls to-day,
In one side, the Feather of Perfect Truth,
In the other—the heart of the waiting dead.
| Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay | |