Seth Compton

    When I died, the circulating library
    Which I built up for Spoon River,
    And managed for the good of inquiring minds,
    Was sold at auction on the public square,
    As if to destroy the last vestige
    Of my memory and influence.
    For those of you who could not see the virtue
    Of knowing Volney's "Ruins" as well as Butler's "Analogy"
    And "Faust" as well as "Evangeline,"
    Were really the power in the village,
    And often you asked me
    "What is the use of knowing the evil in the world?"
    I am out of your way now, Spoon River,
    Choose your own good and call it good.
    For I could never make you see
    That no one knows what is good
    Who knows not what is evil;
    And no one knows what is true
    Who knows not what is false.

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

Henry C. Calhoun

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Penniwit, the Artist

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Albert Schirding

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Front The Ages With A Smile

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

English

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Elliott Hawkins

    I looked like Abraham Lincoln.
    I was one of you, Spoon River, in all fellowship,
    But standing for the rights of property and for order.
    A regular church attendant,
    Sometimes appearing in your town meetings to warn you
    Against the evils of discontent and envy
    And to denounce those who tried to destroy the Union,
    And to point to the peril of the Knights of Labor.
    My success and my example are inevitable influences
    In your young men and in generations to come,
    In spite of attacks of newspapers like the Clarion;
    A regular visitor at Springfield
    When the Legislature was in session
    To prevent raids upon the railroads
    And the men building up the state.
    Trusted by them and by you, Spoon River, equally
   ...

Edgar Lee Masters

E. C. Culbertson

    Is it true, Spoon River,
    That in the hall - way of the New Court House
    There is a tablet of bronze
    Containing the embossed faces
    Of Editor Whedon and Thomas Rhodes?
    And is it true that my successful labors
    In the County Board, without which
    Not one stone would have been placed on another,
    And the contributions out of my own pocket
    To build the temple, are but memories among the people,
    Gradually fading away, and soon to descend
    With them to this oblivion where I lie?
    In truth, I can so believe.
    For it is a law of the Kingdom of Heaven
    That whoso enters the vineyard at the eleventh hour
    Shall receive a full day's pay.
    And it is a law of the Kingdom of this World
    That those who first op...

Edgar Lee Masters

Richard Bone

    When I first came to Spoon River
    I did not know whether what they told me
    Was true or false.
    They would bring me the epitaph
    And stand around the shop while I worked
    And say "He was so kind," "He was so wonderful,"
    "She was the sweetest woman," "He was a consistent Christian."
    And I chiseled for them whatever they wished,
    All in ignorance of the truth.
    But later, as I lived among the people here,
    I knew how near to the life
    Were the epitaphs that were ordered for them as they died.
    But still I chiseled whatever they paid me to chisel
    And made myself party to the false chronicles
    Of the stones,
    Even as the historian does who writes
    Without knowing the truth,
    Or because he is influenced...

Edgar Lee Masters

Walter Simmons

    My parents thought that I would be
    As great as Edison or greater:
    For as a boy I made balloons
    And wondrous kites and toys with clocks
    And little engines with tracks to run on
    And telephones of cans and thread.
    I played the cornet and painted pictures,
    Modeled in clay and took the part
    Of the villain in the "Octoroon."
    But then at twenty - one I married
    And had to live, and so, to live
    I learned the trade of making watches
    And kept the jewelry store on the square,
    Thinking, thinking, thinking, thinking, -
    Not of business, but of the engine
    I studied the calculus to build.
    And all Spoon River watched and waited
    To see it work, but it never worked.
    And a few kind souls believed...

Edgar Lee Masters

Percival Sharp

    Observe the clasped hands!
    Are they hands of farewell or greeting,
    Hands that I helped or hands that helped me?
    Would it not be well to carve a hand
    With an inverted thumb, like Elagabalus?
    And yonder is a broken chain,
    The weakest-link idea perhaps - but what was it?
    And lambs, some lying down,
    Others standing, as if listening to the shepherd -
    Others bearing a cross, one foot lifted up -
    Why not chisel a few shambles?
    And fallen columns!
    Carve the pedestal, please,
    Or the foundations; let us see the cause of the fall.
    And compasses and mathematical instruments,
    In irony of the under tenants, ignorance
    Of determinants and the calculus of variations.
    And anchors, for those who never s...

Edgar Lee Masters

Indignation" Jones

    You would not believe, would you
    That I came from good Welsh stock?
    That I was purer blooded than the white trash here?
    And of more direct lineage than the
    New Englanders And Virginians of Spoon River?
    You would not believe that I had been to school
    And read some books.
    You saw me only as a run-down man
    With matted hair and beard
    And ragged clothes.
    Sometimes a man's life turns into a cancer
    From being bruised and continually bruised,
    And swells into a purplish mass
    Like growths on stalks of corn.
    Here was I, a carpenter, mired in a bog of life
    Into which I walked, thinking it was a meadow,
    With a slattern for a wife, and poor Minerva, my daughter,
    Whom you tormented and drove to deat...

Edgar Lee Masters