Crickets on a Strike

The foolish queen of fairyland
From her milk-white throne in a lily-bell,
Gave command to her cricket-band
To play for her when the dew-drops fell.

But the cold dew spoiled their instruments
And they play for the foolish queen no more.
Instead those sturdy malcontents
Play sharps and flats in my kitchen floor.

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

Vachel Lindsay

Drying their Wings

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Gamblers

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Rhymes for Gloriana - III. On Receiving One of Gloriana's Letters

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Prologue. A Sense of Humor

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Popcorn, Glass Balls, and Cranberries (As it were)

        I. The Lion


    The Lion is a kingly beast.
    He likes a Hindu for a feast.
    And if no Hindu he can get,
    The lion-family is upset.

    He cuffs his wife and bites her ears
    Till she is nearly moved to tears.
    Then some explorer finds the den
    And all is family peace again.



        II.    An Explanation of the Grasshopper


    The Grasshopper, the grasshopper,
    I will explain to you: -
    He is the Brownies' racehorse,
    The fairies' Kangaroo.



        III.    The Dangerous Little Boy Fairies


    In fairyland the little boys
    Would rather fight than eat their meals.
    They like to chase a gauze-winged fly
    And catch and beat him till he ...

Vachel Lindsay

The Cricket

Here is a tale for those who sing with reason:
There was a cricket, troubadouring fellow,
Who chirped his lay, or zoomed it like a 'cello,
Day in, day out, no matter what the season.
Great was his love for his own violining;
He never wearied saying, "What performing!"
And oft, when through, would ask, "Was not that charming?"
Then play it over, right from the beginning.
A talent, such as his, should be rewarded,
So thought he, all unconscious of intention
Of any one among the violin sects,
Until by some one, lo, he was regarded;
Lifted, examined; given special mention;
And placed within a case with other insects.

Madison Julius Cawein

The Cricket's Song

When all around from out the ground
The little flowers are peeping,
And from the hills the merry rills
With vernal songs are leaping,
I sing my song the whole day long
In woodland, hedge, and thicket--
And sing it, too, the whole night through,
For I 'm a merry cricket.

The children hear my chirrup clear
As, in the woodland straying,
They gather flow'rs through summer hours--
And then I hear them saying:
"Sing, sing away the livelong day,
Glad songster of the thicket--
With your shrill mirth you gladden earth,
You merry little cricket!"

When summer goes, and Christmas snows
Are from the north returning,
I quit my lair and hasten where
The old yule-log is burning.
And where at night the ruddy light
Of that old log is flingin...

Eugene Field

The King of Yellow Butterflies (A Poem Game.)

The King of Yellow Butterflies,
The King of Yellow Butterflies,
The King of Yellow Butterflies,
Now orders forth his men.
He says "The time is almost here
When violets bloom again."
Adown the road the fickle rout
Goes flashing proud and bold,
Adown the road the fickle rout
Goes flashing proud and bold,
Adown the road the fickle rout
Goes flashing proud and bold,
They shiver by the shallow pools,
They shiver by the shallow pools,
They shiver by the shallow pools,
And whimper of the cold.
They drink and drink. A frail pretense!
They love to pose and preen.
Each pool is but a looking glass,
Where their sweet wings are seen.
Each pool is but a looking glass,
Where their sweet wings are seen.
Each pool is but a looking glass,
Wher...

Vachel Lindsay

Play.

Play, play, while as yet it is day:
While the sweet sunlight is warm on the brae!
Hark to the lark singing lay upon lay,
While the brown squirrel eats nuts on the spray
And in the apple-leaves chatters the jay!
Play, play, even as they!
What though the cowslips ye pluck will decay,
What though the grass will be presently hay?
What though the noise that ye make should dismay
Old Mrs. Clutterbuck over the way?
Play, play, for your locks will grow gray;
Even the marbles ye sport with are clay.

Play, ay in the crowded highway:
Was it not made for you? Yea, my lad, yea.
True that the babes you were bid to convey
Home may fall out or be stolen or stray;
True that the tip-cat you toss about may
Strike an old gentleman, cause him to sway,
Stumble, and ...

Charles Stuart Calverley

The Haughty Snail-king

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)
        (What Uncle William told the Children)


    Twelve snails went walking after night.
    They'd creep an inch or so,
    Then stop and bug their eyes
    And blow.
    Some folks... are... deadly... slow.
    Twelve snails went walking yestereve,
    Led by their fat old king.
    They were so dull their princeling had
    No sceptre, robe or ring -
    Only a paper cap to wear
    When nightly journeying.

    This king-snail said:    "I feel a thought
    Within....    It blossoms soon....
    O little courtiers of mine,...
    I crave a pretty boon....
    Oh, yes... (High thoughts with effort come
    And well-bred snails are ALMOST dumb.)
    "I wish I had a y...

Vachel Lindsay