Springfield Magical

    In this, the City of my Discontent,
    Sometimes there comes a whisper from the grass,
    "Romance, Romance - is here.    No Hindu town
    Is quite so strange.    No Citadel of Brass
    By Sinbad found, held half such love and hate;
    No picture-palace in a picture-book
    Such webs of Friendship, Beauty, Greed and Fate!"

    In this, the City of my Discontent,
    Down from the sky, up from the smoking deep
    Wild legends new and old burn round my bed
    While trees and grass and men are wrapped in sleep.
    Angels come down, with Christmas in their hearts,
    Gentle, whimsical, laughing, heaven-sent;
    And, for a day, fair Peace have given me
    In this, the City of my Discontent!

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

To Jane Addams at the Hague

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Congo

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Soul of the City Receives the Gift of the Holy Spirit

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

When Gassy Thompson Struck it Rich

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

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The Illinois Village

    O you who lose the art of hope,
    Whose temples seem to shrine a lie,
    Whose sidewalks are but stones of fear,
    Who weep that Liberty must die,
    Turn to the little prairie towns,
    Your higher hope shall yet begin.
    On every side awaits you there
    Some gate where glory enters in.

    Yet when I see the flocks of girls,
    Watching the Sunday train go thro'
    (As tho' the whole wide world went by)
    With eyes that long to travel too,
    I sigh, despite my soul made glad
    By cloudy dresses and brown hair,
    Sigh for the sweet life wrenched and torn
    By thundering commerce, fierce and bare.
    Nymphs of the wheat these girls should be:
    Kings of the grove, their lovers strong.
    Why are they not inspired,...

Vachel Lindsay

On the Building of Springfield

    Let not our town be large, remembering
    That little Athens was the Muses' home,
    That Oxford rules the heart of London still,
    That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome.

    Record it for the grandson of your son -
    A city is not builded in a day:
    Our little town cannot complete her soul
    Till countless generations pass away.

    Now let each child be joined as to a church
    To her perpetual hopes, each man ordained:
    Let every street be made a reverent aisle
    Where Music grows and Beauty is unchained.

    Let Science and Machinery and Trade
    Be slaves of her, and make her all in all,
    Building against our blatant, restless time
    An unseen, skilful, medieval wall.

    Let every citizen be rich to...

Vachel Lindsay

The Amaranth

    Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here....
    Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns
    And the tremendous Amaranth descends
    Sweet with the glory of ten thousand dawns?

    Does it not mean my God would have me say: -
    "Whether you will or no, O city young,
    Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you,
    Flash and loom greatly all your marts among?"

    Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep.
    Such things I see, and some of them shall come
    Though now our streets are harsh and ashen-gray,
    Though our strong youths are strident now, or dumb.
    Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town, shall rise.
    Naught can delay it.    Though it may not be
    Just as I dream, it comes at last I know
    With s...

Vachel Lindsay

The Soul of the City Receives the Gift of the Holy Spirit

        A Broadside distributed in Springfield, Illinois



    Censers are swinging
    Over the town;
    Censers are swinging,
    Look overhead!
    Censers are swinging,
    Heaven comes down.
    City, dead city,
    Awake from the dead!

    Censers, tremendous,
    Gleam overhead.
    Wind-harps are ringing,
    Wind-harps unseen -
    Calling and calling: -
    "Wake from the dead.
    Rise, little city,
    Shine like a queen."

    Soldiers of Christ
    For battle grow keen.
    Heaven-sent winds
    Haunt alley and lane.
    Singing of life
    In town-meadows green
    After the toil
    And battle and pain.

    Incense is pouring
    Like the spring rain
    Do...

Vachel Lindsay

The City.

Beyond the dusky corn-fields, toward the west,
Dotted with farms, beyond the shallow stream,
Through drifts of elm with quiet peep and gleam,
Curved white and slender as a lady's wrist,
Faint and far off out of the autumn mist,
Even as a pointed jewel softly set
In clouds of colour warmer, deeper yet,
Crimson and gold and rose and amethyst,
Toward dayset, where the journeying sun grown old
Hangs lowly westward darker now than gold,
With the soft sun-touch of the yellowing hours
Made lovelier, I see with dreaming eyes,
Even as a dream out of a dream, arise
The bell-tongued city with its glorious towers.

Archibald Lampman

Spring Longing.

    What art thou doing here, O Imagination?    Go away I entreat thee by the gods, as thou didst come, for I want thee not.    But thou art come according to thy old fashion.    I am not angry with thee - only go away.
    - Marcus Antoninus

Lilac hazes veil the skies.
    Languid sighs
Breathes the mild, caressing air.
Pink as coral's branching sprays,
    Orchard ways
With the blossomed peach are fair.


Sunshine, cordial as a kiss,
    Poureth bliss
In this craving soul of mine,
And my heart her flower-cup
    Lifteth up,
Thirsting for the draught divine.


Swift the liquid golden flame
    Through my frame
Sets my throbbing veins afire.
Bright, alluring dreams arise,
    Brim mine eyes
With the tears of strong desi...

Emma Lazarus