Serepta Mason

    My life's blossom might have bloomed on all sides
    Save for a bitter wind which stunted my petals
    On the side of me which you in the village could see.
    From the dust I lift a voice of protest:
    My flowering side you never saw!
    Ye living ones, ye are fools indeed
    Who do not know the ways of the wind
    And the unseen forces
    That govern the processes of life.

Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. Born in Kansas and raised in Illinois, Masters is best known for his collection of poems entitled "Spoon River Anthology" (1915), which is a series of epitaphs of residents of the fictional small town of Spoon River. His works reflect the everyday lives and frustrations of middle America. Masters also practiced law and wrote biographies for historical figures such as Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain.

Edgar Lee Masters

Arlo Will

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Sir Galahad

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Henry Layton

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Rev. Percy Ferguson

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

English

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William Jones

    Once in a while a curious weed unknown to me,
    Needing a name from my books;
    Once in a while a letter from Yeomans.
    Out of the mussel-shells gathered along the shore
    Sometimes a pearl with a glint like meadow rue:
    Then betimes a letter from Tyndall in England,
    Stamped with the stamp of Spoon River.
    I, lover of Nature, beloved for my love of her,
    Held such converse afar with the great
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    Oh, there is neither lesser nor greater,
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    With shells from the river cover me, cover me.
    I lived in wonder, worshipping earth and heaven.
    I have passed on the march eternal of endless life.

Edgar Lee Masters

Edmund Pollard

    I would I had thrust my hands of flesh
    Into the disk - flowers bee-infested,
    Into the mirror-like core of fire
    Of the light of life, the sun of delight.
    For what are anthers worth or petals
    Or halo-rays? Mockeries, shadows
    Of the heart of the flower, the central flame
    All is yours, young passer-by;
    Enter the banquet room with the thought;
    Don't sidle in as if you were doubtful
    Whether you're welcome - the feast is yours!
    Nor take but a little, refusing more
    With a bashful "Thank you", when you're hungry.
    Is your soul alive? Then let it feed!
    Leave no balconies where you can climb;
    Nor milk-white bosoms where you can rest;
    Nor golden heads with pillows to share;
    Nor wine cups while the...

Edgar Lee Masters

Caroline Branson

    With our hearts like drifting suns, had we but walked,
    As often before, the April fields till star - light
    Silkened over with viewless gauze the darkness
    Under the cliff, our trysting place in the wood,
    Where the brook turns! Had we but passed from wooing
    Like notes of music that run together, into winning,
    In the inspired improvisation of love!
    But to put back of us as a canticle ended
    The rapt enchantment of the flesh,
    In which our souls swooned, down, down,
    Where time was not, nor space, nor ourselves -
    Annihilated in love!
    To leave these behind for a room with lamps:
    And to stand with our Secret mocking itself,
    And hiding itself amid flowers and mandolins,
    Stared at by all between salad and coffee....

Edgar Lee Masters

Samuel Gardner

    I who kept the greenhouse,
    Lover of trees and flowers,
    Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
    Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
    And listened to its rejoicing leaves
    Lovingly patting each other
    With sweet aeolian whispers.
    And well they might:
    For the roots had grown so wide and deep
    That the soil of the hill could not withhold
    Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
    And warmed by the sun;
    But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
    Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
    And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
    Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
    Now I, an under - tenant of the earth, can see
    That the branches of a tree
    Spread no wider than its ...

Edgar Lee Masters

Webster Ford

    Do you remember, O Delphic Apollo,
    The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M'Grew
    Cried, "There's a ghost," and I, "It's Delphic Apollo,".
    And the son of the banker derided us, saying, "It's light
    By the flags at the water's edge, you half-witted fools."
    And from thence, as the wearisome years rolled on, long after
    Poor Mickey fell down in the water tower to his death
    Down, down, through bellowing darkness, I carried
    The vision which perished with him like a rocket which falls
    And quenches its light in earth, and hid it for fear
    Of the son of the banker, calling on Plutus to save me?
    Avenged were you for the shame of a fearful heart
    Who left me alone till I saw you again in an hour
    When I seemed to be turned to a tree...

Edgar Lee Masters

Dillard Sissman

    The buzzards wheel slowly
    In wide circles, in a sky
    Faintly hazed as from dust from the road.
    And a wind sweeps through the pasture where I lie
    Beating the grass into long waves.
    My kite is above the wind,
    Though now and then it wobbles,
    Like a man shaking his shoulders;
    And the tail streams out momentarily,
    Then sinks to rest.
    And the buzzards wheel and wheel,
    Sweeping the zenith with wide circles
    Above my kite. And the hills sleep.
    And a farm house, white as snow,
    Peeps from green trees - far away.
    And I watch my kite,
    For the thin moon will kindle herself ere long,
    Then she will swing like a pendulum dial
    To the tail of my kite.
    A spurt of flame like a water-drago...

Edgar Lee Masters