Rhymes for Gloriana - I. The Doll upon the Topmost Bough

    This doll upon the topmost bough,
    This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress,
    Was taken down and brought to me
    One sleety night most comfortless.

    Her hair was gold, her dolly-sash
    Was gray brocade, most good to see.
    The dear toy laughed, and I forgot
    The ill the new year promised me.

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

What the Rattlesnake Said

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

What Semiramis Said

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Drying their Wings

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Concerning Emperors

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

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Rhymes for Gloriana - II. On Suddenly Receiving a Curl Long Refused

    Oh, saucy gold circle of fairyland silk -
    Impudent, intimate, delicate treasure:
    A noose for my heart and a ring for my finger: -
    Here in my study you sing me a measure.

    Whimsy and song in my little gray study!
    Words out of wonderland, praising her fineness,
    Touched with her pulsating, delicate laughter,
    Saying, "The girl is all daring and kindness!"

    Saying, "Her soul is all feminine gameness,
    Trusting her insights, ardent for living;
    She would be weeping with me and be laughing,
    A thoroughbred, joyous receiving and giving!"

Vachel Lindsay

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

    Your pen needs but a ruffle
    To be Pavlova whirling.
    It surely is a scalawag
    A-scamping down the page.
    A pretty little May-wind
    The morning buds uncurling.
    And then the white sweet Russian,
    The dancer of the age.

    Your pen's the Queen of Sheba,
    Such serious questions bringing,
    That merry rascal Solomon
    Would show a sober face: -
    And then again Pavlova
    To set our spirits singing,
    The snowy-swan bacchante
    All glamour, glee and grace.

Vachel Lindsay

Rhymes for Gloriana - IV. In Praise of Gloriana's Remarkable Golden Hair

    The gleaming head of one fine friend
    Is bent above my little song,
    So through the treasure-pits of Heaven
    In fancy's shoes, I march along.

    I wander, seek and peer and ponder
    In Splendor's last ensnaring lair -
    'Mid burnished harps and burnished crowns
    Where noble chariots gleam and flare:

    Amid the spirit-coins and gems,
    The plates and cups and helms of fire -
    The gorgeous-treasure-pits of Heaven -
    Where angel-misers slake desire!

    O endless treasure-pits of gold
    Where silly angel-men make mirth -
    I think that I am there this hour,
    Though walking in the ways of earth!

Vachel Lindsay

Once More - To Gloriana

    Girl with the burning golden eyes,
    And red-bird song, and snowy throat:
    I bring you gold and silver moons
    And diamond stars, and mists that float.
    I bring you moons and snowy clouds,
    I bring you prairie skies to-night
    To feebly praise your golden eyes
    And red-bird song, and throat so white.

Vachel Lindsay

Christmas Roses

A BUNCH of Christmas Roses, dear,
    To greet my fairest child,
I plucked them in my garden where
    The drifting snow lay piled.

I cannot bring thee violets dear,
    Or cowslips growing wild,
Or daisy chain for thee to wear,
    For thee to wear, my child.

For all the grassy meadows near
    Are clad with snow, my child;
Through all the days of winter drear
    No ray of sun has smiled.

I plucked this bunch of verses, dear,
    From out my garden wild,
I plucked them in the winter drear
    For you, my fairest child,
Your wet and wintry hours to cheer,
    They're Christmas Roses, child.

Lizzie Lawson

What the Snow Man Said

    The Moon's a snowball.    See the drifts
    Of white that cross the sphere.
    The Moon's a snowball, melted down
    A dozen times a year.

    Yet rolled again in hot July
    When all my days are done
    And cool to greet the weary eye
    After the scorching sun.

    The moon's a piece of winter fair
    Renewed the year around,
    Behold it, deathless and unstained,
    Above the grimy ground!

    It rolls on high so brave and white
    Where the clear air-rivers flow,
    Proclaiming Christmas all the time
    And the glory of the snow!

Vachel Lindsay