Euclid

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    Old Euclid drew a circle
    On a sand-beach long ago.
    He bounded and enclosed it
    With angles thus and so.
    His set of solemn greybeards
    Nodded and argued much
    Of arc and of circumference,
    Diameter and such.
    A silent child stood by them
    From morning until noon
    Because they drew such charming
    Round pictures of the moon.

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

The Flower of Mending

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

At Mass

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Ghosts in Love

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Broncho that Would Not Be Broken

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

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The Encyclopaedia

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    "If I could set the moon upon
    This table," said my friend,
    "Among the standard poets
    And brochures without end,
    And noble prints of old Japan,
    How empty they would seem,
    By that encyclopaedia
    Of whim and glittering dream."

Vachel Lindsay

What the Moon Saw

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    Two statesmen met by moonlight.
    Their ease was partly feigned.
    They glanced about the prairie.
    Their faces were constrained.
    In various ways aforetime
    They had misled the state,
    Yet did it so politely
    Their henchmen thought them great.
    They sat beneath a hedge and spake
    No word, but had a smoke.
    A satchel passed from hand to hand.
    Next day, the deadlock broke.

Vachel Lindsay

On the Garden-wall

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    Oh, once I walked a garden
    In dreams.    'Twas yellow grass.
    And many orange-trees grew there
    In sand as white as glass.
    The curving, wide wall-border
    Was marble, like the snow.
    I walked that wall a fairy-prince
    And, pacing quaint and slow,
    Beside me were my pages,
    Two giant, friendly birds.
    Half-swan they were, half peacock.
    They spake in courtier-words.
    Their inner wings a chariot,
    Their outer wings for flight,
    They lifted me from dreamland.
    We bade those trees good-night.
    Swiftly above the stars we rode.
    I looked below me soon.
    The white-walled garden I had ruled
    Was one lone flower - the moon.

Vachel Lindsay

Drying their Wings

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)
        (What the Carpenter Said)


    The moon's a cottage with a door.
    Some folks can see it plain.
    Look, you may catch a glint of light,
    A sparkle through the pane,
    Showing the place is brighter still
    Within, though bright without.
    There, at a cosy open fire
    Strange babes are grouped about.
    The children of the wind and tide -
    The urchins of the sky,
    Drying their wings from storms and things
    So they again can fly.

Vachel Lindsay

The Moon is a Painter

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    He coveted her portrait.
    He toiled as she grew gay.
    She loved to see him labor
    In that devoted way.

    And in the end it pleased her,
    But bowed him more with care.
    Her rose-smile showed so plainly,
    Her soul-smile was not there.

    That night he groped without a lamp
    To find a cloak, a book,
    And on the vexing portrait
    By moonrise chanced to look.

    The color-scheme was out of key,
    The maiden rose-smile faint,
    But through the blessed darkness
    She gleamed, his friendly saint.

    The comrade, white, immortal,
    His bride, and more than bride -
    The citizen, the sage of mind,
    For whom he lived...

Vachel Lindsay

What the Gray-winged Fairy Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's a gong, hung in the wild,
    Whose song the fays hold dear.
    Of course you do not hear it, child.
    It takes a FAIRY ear.

    The full moon is a splendid gong
    That beats as night grows still.
    It sounds above the evening song
    Of dove or whippoorwill.

Vachel Lindsay