Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay revised and illustrated edition |
1. |
2. |
1. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
7. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
3. |
8. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
9. |
TO JANE ADDAMS AT THE HAGUE |
1. |
2. |
10. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
11. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay | ||
TO JANE ADDAMS AT THE HAGUE
[_]
(Two poems, written on the sinking of the Lusitania, appearing in the Chicago Herald, May 11, 1915)
I. Speak Now for Peace
Lady of Light, and our best woman, and queen,
Stand now for peace (though anger breaks your heart),
Though naught but smoke and flame and drowning is seen.
Stand now for peace (though anger breaks your heart),
Though naught but smoke and flame and drowning is seen.
381
Lady of Light, speak, though you speak alone,
Though your voice may seem as a dove's in this howling flood,
It is heard tonight by every senate and throne.
Though your voice may seem as a dove's in this howling flood,
It is heard tonight by every senate and throne.
Though the widening battle of millions and millions of men
Threatens tonight to sweep the whole of the earth,
Back of the smoke is the promise of kindness again.
Threatens tonight to sweep the whole of the earth,
Back of the smoke is the promise of kindness again.
II. Tolstoi Is Plowing Yet
Tolstoi is plowing yet. When the smoke-clouds break,
High in the sky shines a field as wide as the world.
There he toils for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake.
High in the sky shines a field as wide as the world.
There he toils for the Kingdom of Heaven's sake.
Ah, he is taller than clouds of the little earth.
Only the congress of planets is over him,
And the arching path where new sweet stars have birth.
Only the congress of planets is over him,
And the arching path where new sweet stars have birth.
Wearing his peasant dress, his head bent low,
Tolstoi, that angel of Peace, is plowing yet;
Forward across the field, his horses go.
Tolstoi, that angel of Peace, is plowing yet;
Forward across the field, his horses go.
Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay | ||