Niagara

    I

Within the town of Buffalo
Are prosy men with leaden eyes.
Like ants they worry to and fro,
(Important men, in Buffalo.)
But only twenty miles away
A deathless glory is at play:
Niagara, Niagara.

The women buy their lace and cry: -
"O such a delicate design,"
And over ostrich feathers sigh,
By counters there, in Buffalo.
The children haunt the trinket shops,
They buy false-faces, bells, and tops,
Forgetting great Niagara.

Within the town of Buffalo
Are stores with garnets, sapphires, pearls,
Rubies, emeralds aglow, -
Opal chains in Buffalo,
Cherished symbols of success.
They value not your rainbow dress: -
Niagara, Niagara.

The shaggy meaning of her name
This Buffalo, this recreant town,
Sharps and lawyers prune and tame:
Few pioneers in Buffalo;
Except young lovers flushed and fleet
And winds hallooing down the street:
"Niagara, Niagara."

The journalists are sick of ink:
Boy prodigals are lost in wine,
By night where white and red lights blink,
The eyes of Death, in Buffalo.
And only twenty miles away
Are starlit rocks and healing spray: -
Niagara, Niagara.

Above the town a tiny bird,
A shining speck at sleepy dawn,
Forgets the ant-hill so absurd,
This self-important Buffalo.
Descending twenty miles away
He bathes his wings at break of day -
Niagara, Niagara.


    II

        What marching men of Buffalo
        Flood the streets in rash crusade?
        Fools-to-free-the-world, they go,
        Primeval hearts from Buffalo.
        Red cataracts of France today
        Awake, three thousand miles away
        An echo of Niagara,
        The cataract Niagara.

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.

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English

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Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry,
The windows were shaking, there was thunder on high,
The floor was a-tremble, the door was a-jar,
White fires, crimson fires, shone from afar.
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The Illinois Village

    O you who lose the art of hope,
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        It was a scene of icebergs dreary,
            Those who saw will remember ever.

        Then gale blew up lake and river,
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        Such scene it had been witnessed never,
            Since Israelites crossed the Red Sea,
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        Lady she resolved to venture,

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    A city is not builded in a day:
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            I

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