Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

I saw Lord Buddha towering by my gate
Saying: “Once more, good youth, I stand and wait.”
Saying: “I bring you my fair Law of Peace
And from your withering passion full release;
Release from that white hand that stabbed you so.
The road is calling. With the wind you go,
Forgetting her imperious disdain—
Quenching all memory in the sun and rain.”

“Excellent Lord, I come. But first,” I said,
“Grant that I bring her these twelve roses red.
Yea, twelve flower kisses for her rose-leaf mouth,
And then indeed I go in bitter drouth
To that far valley where your river flows
In Peace, that once I found in every rose.”

II. The Firemen's Ball

Section One

“Give the engines room,
Give the engines room.”
Louder, faster
The little band-master
Whips up the fluting,
Hurries up the tooting.
He thinks that he stands,
The reins in his hands,

To be read, or chanted, with the heavy buzzing bass of fire-engines pumping. In this passage the reading or chanting is shriller and higher.

In the fire-chief's place
In the night alarm chase.

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The cymbals whang,
The kettledrums bang:—
“Clear the street,
Clear the street,
Clear the street—Boom, boom.
In the evening gloom,
In the evening gloom,
Give the engines room,
Give the engines room,
Lest souls be trapped
In a terrible tomb.”
The sparks and the pine-brands
Whirl on high
From the black and reeking alleys
To the wide red sky.
Hear the hot glass crashing,
Hear the stone steps hissing.
Coal-black streams
Down the gutters pour.
There are cries for help
From a far fifth floor.
For a longer ladder
Hear the fire-chief call.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
“'Tis the

To be read or chanted in a heavy bass.

Night
Of doom.”
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
“Night
Of doom.”
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.

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Faster, faster
The red flames come.
“Hum grum,” say the engines,
“Hum grum grum.”
“Buzz, buzz,”

Shriller and higher.

Says the crowd.
“See, see,”
Calls the crowd.
“Look out,”
Yelps the crowd
And the high walls fall:—
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
“'Tis the

Heavy bass.

Night
Of doom,”
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
Night
Of doom,
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
Whangaranga, whangaranga,
Whang, whang, whang,
Clang, clang, clangaranga,

Bass, much slower.

Clang, clang, clang.
Clang—a—ranga—
Clang—a—ranga—
Clang—a—ranga—
Clang,
Clang,
Clang.
Listen—to—the—music—
Of the firemen's ball—

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Section Two

“Many's the heart that's breaking
If we could read them all
After the ball is over.”
(An old song.)

Scornfully, gaily

To be read or sung slowly and softly, in the manner of lustful, insinuating music.

The bandmaster sways,
Changing the strain
That the wild band plays.
With a red and royal intoxication,
A tangle of sounds
And a syncopation,
Sweeping and bending
From side to side,
Master of dreams,
With a peacock pride.
A lord of the delicate flowers of delight
He drives compunction
Back through the night.
Dreams he's a soldier
Plumed and spurred,
And valiant lads
Arise at his word,
Flaying the sober
Thoughts he hates,
Driving them back
From the dream-town gates.
How can the languorous
Dancers know
The red dreams come
When the good dreams go?

To be read or chanted slowly and softly in the manner of lustful, insinuating music

“'Tis the
Night

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Of love,”
Call the silver joy-bells,
“Night
Of love,”
Call the silver joy-bells.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
Sing low, now, violins,
Sing, sing low,
Blow gently, wood-wind,
Mellow and slow.
Like midnight poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
Their eyes flash power,
Their lips are dumb.
Faster and faster
Their pulses come,
Though softer now
The drum-beats fall.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
'Tis the firemen's ball,
'Tis the firemen's ball.

“I am slain,”

With a climax of whispered mourning.

Cries true-love
There in the shadow.
“And I die,”
Cries true-love,
There laid low.
“When the fire-dreams come,
The wise dreams go.”

But HIS CRY IS DROWNED

Suddenly interrupting. To be read or sung in heavy bass. First eight lines as harsh as possible. Then gradually musical and sonorous.

By THE PROUD BAND-MASTER.
And now great gongs whang,

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Sharper, faster,
And kettledrums rattle
And hide the shame
With a swish and a swirk
In dead love's name.
Red and crimson
And scarlet and rose
Magical poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
The scarlet stays
When the rose-flush goes,
And love lies low
In a marble tomb.
“'Tis the
Night
Of doom,”
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
“Night
Of Doom,”
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
Hark how the piccolos still make cheer.

Sharply interrupting in a very high key.

“'Tis a moonlight night in the spring of the year.”
Clangaranga, CLANGARANGA,

Heavy bass.

Clang ... CLANG ... CLANG.
Clang ... A ... RANGA ...
Clang ... A ... RANGA ...
Clang ... CLANG ... CLANG ...
Listen ... TO ... THE ... MUSIC ...
Of ... THE ... FIREMEN'S ... BALL ...
Listen ... TO ... THE ... MUSIC ...
Of ... THE ... FIREMEN'S ... BALL ...

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Section Three

In Which, contrary to Artistic Custom, the moral of the piece is placed before the reader.

[_]

(From the first Khandaka of the Mahavagga: “There Buddha thus addressed his disciples: ‘Everything, O mendicants, is burning. With what fire is it burning? I declare unto you it is burning with the fire of passion, with the fire of anger, with the fire of ignorance. It is burning with the anxieties of birth, decay and death, grief, lamentation, suffering and despair. ... A disciple, ... becoming weary of all that, divests himself of passion. By absence of passion he is made free.’”)

I once knew a teacher,

To be intoned after the manner of a priestly service.

Who turned from desire,
Who said to the young men
“Wine is a fire.”
Who said to the merchants:—
“Gold is a flame
That sears and tortures
If you play at the game.”
I once knew a teacher
Who turned from desire
Who said to the soldiers,
“Hate is a fire.”
Who said to the statesmen:—
“Power is a flame
That flays and blisters
If you play at the game.”
I once knew a teacher
Who turned from desire,
Who said to the lordly,

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“Pride is a fire.”
Who thus warned the revellers:—
“Life is a flame.
Be cold as the dew
Would you win at the game
With hearts like the stars,
With hearts like the stars.”

Interrupting very loudly for the last time.

So BEWARE,
So BEWARE,
So BEWARE OF THE FIRE.
Clear the streets,
Boom, BOOM,
Clear the streets,
Boom, BOOM,
Give THE ENGINES ROOM,
Give THE ENGINES ROOM,
Lest SOULS BE TRAPPED
In A TERRIBLE TOMB.
Says THE SWIFT WHITE HORSE
To THE SWIFT BLACK HORSE:—
“There GOES THE ALARM,
There GOES THE ALARM.
They ARE HITCHED, THEY ARE OFF,
They ARE GONE IN A FLASH,
And THEY STRAIN AT THE DRIVER'S IRON ARM.”
Clang ... A ... RANGA. ... Clang ... A ... RANGA. ...
Clang ... CLANG ... CLANG. ...
Clang ... A ... RANGA. ... Clang ... A ... RANGA. ...
Clang ... CLANG ... CLANG. ...
Clang ... A ... RANGA. ... Clang ... A ... RANGA. ...
Clang. ... CLANG ... CLANG. ...

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III. To Buddha

Awake again in Asia, Lord of Peace,
Awake and preach, for her far swordsmen rise.
And would they sheathe the sword before you, friend,
Or scorn your way, while looking in your eyes?

Good comrade and philosopher and prince,
Thoughtful and thoroughbred and strong and kind,
Dare they to move against your pride benign,
Lord of the Law, high chieftain of the mind?

But what can Europe say, when in your name
The throats are cut, the lotus-ponds turn red?
And what can Europe say, when with a laugh
Old Asia heaps her hecatombs of dead?