Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay revised and illustrated edition |
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 | Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay |  |
II
The slender maiden found me sleeping,
Stirred my breast by her wings and her singing,
Lifted me to the place of feasting
While the water-falls in the court were ringing.
There we ate of the crust of knowledge,
There we drank of the water of kindness.
The cups were simple, formed of silver,
Vermillion banners waved behind us.
Stirred my breast by her wings and her singing,
Lifted me to the place of feasting
While the water-falls in the court were ringing.
There we ate of the crust of knowledge,
There we drank of the water of kindness.
The cups were simple, formed of silver,
Vermillion banners waved behind us.
Her eyes were round with noble wonder,
Deep her songs from her sweet throat throbbing;
Wise her words and fine her laughter
While the water-falls of the court were sobbing.
Deep her songs from her sweet throat throbbing;
Wise her words and fine her laughter
While the water-falls of the court were sobbing.
The lamps were low when we turned all sated
To view the streets in their moss-hung glory:
The heaven jungles stretched before us,
The nodding trees were weighed with story.
To view the streets in their moss-hung glory:
The heaven jungles stretched before us,
The nodding trees were weighed with story.
lii
I scarce dare say what the dark groves told us,
Their whisperings of grim, dim sadness,
Over rotted harps and rusted gold
In the treasure-pits, and the bold lithe gladness
Their whisperings of grim, dim sadness,
Over rotted harps and rusted gold
In the treasure-pits, and the bold lithe gladness
Of the moon-vines cold on the ivory chariots.
Of the ivy-vines round the fallen fountains
Of the magic amaranthine flowers,
Lighting the jungles and the mountains.
Of the ivy-vines round the fallen fountains
Of the magic amaranthine flowers,
Lighting the jungles and the mountains.
We were alone; that, that was Heaven,
And when she left me, not forlorn,
But praising God, in my beggar's hut—
I watched the coming of the morn.
And when she left me, not forlorn,
But praising God, in my beggar's hut—
I watched the coming of the morn.
| Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay | |