The Journey Starts Swiftly

    A thousand times ten thousand times
    More swift than the sun's swift light
    Were the Morning Wings in their flight
    On -    On -
    West of the Universe,
    Thro' the West
    To Chaos-night.

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

The Queen of Bubbles

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Shakespeare

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Beggar Speaks

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

To Mary Pickford - Moving-picture Actress

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

He Climbs the Hill Where the Tree Grows

    On -
    Thro' the gleaming gray
    I ran to the storm and clang -
    To the red, red hill where the great tree swayed -
    And scattered bells like autumn leaves.
    How the red bells rang!
    My breath within my breast
    Was held like a diver's breath -
    The leaves were tangled locks of gray -
    The boughs of the tree were white and gray,
    Shaped like scythes of Death.
    The boughs of the tree would sweep and sway -
    Sway like scythes of Death.
    But it was beautiful!
    I knew that all was well.
    A thousand bells from a thousand boughs
    Each moment bloomed and fell.
    On the hill of the wind-swept tree
    There were no bells asleep;
    They sang beneath my trailing wings
    Like rivers sweet and stee...

Vachel Lindsay

The Song Of A Comet

    A plummet of the changing universe,
    Far-cast, I flare
    Through gulfs the sun's uncharted orbits bind,
    And spaces bare
    That intermediate darks immerse
    By road of sun nor world confined.
    Upon my star-undominated gyre
    I mark the systems vanish one by one;
    Among the swarming worlds I lunge,
    And sudden plunge
    Close to the zones of solar fire;
    Or 'mid the mighty wrack of stars undone,
    Flash, and with momentary rays
    Compel the dark to yield
    Their aimless forms, whose once far-potent blaze
    In ashes chill is now inurned.
    A space revealed,
    I see their planets turned,
    Where holders of the heritage of breath
    Exultant rose, and sank to barren death
    Beneath the stars' unhe...

Clark Ashton Smith

The Master of the Dance

A chant to which it is intended a group of children shall dance and improvise pantomime led by their dancing-teacher.


            I

    A master deep-eyed
    Ere his manhood was ripe,
    He sang like a thrush,
    He could play any pipe.
    So dull in the school
    That he scarcely could spell,
    He read but a bit,
    And he figured not well.
    A bare-footed fool,
    Shod only with grace;
    Long hair streaming down
    Round a wind-hardened face;
    He smiled like a girl,
    Or like clear winter skies,
    A virginal light
    Making stars of his eyes.
    In swiftness and poise,
    A proud child of the deer,
    A white fawn he was,
    Yet a fawn without fear.
    No youth thought him vain,
...

Vachel Lindsay

He Nears the Goal

    How the red bells rang
    As I neared the Chaos-shore!
    As I flew across to the end of the West
    The young bells rang and rang
    Above the Chaos roar,
    And the Wings of the Morning
    Beat in tune
    And bore me like a bird along -
    And the nearing star turned to a moon -
    Gray moon, with a brow of red -
    Gray moon with a golden song.
    Like a diver after pearls
    I plunged to that stifling floor.
    It was wide as a giant's wheat-field
    An icy, wind-washed shore.
    O laughing, proud, but trembling star!
    O wind that wounded sore!

Vachel Lindsay

The Santa Fe Trail (A Humoresque)

I asked the old Negro, "What is that bird that sings so well?" He answered:    "That is the Rachel-Jane."    "Hasn't it another name, lark, or thrush, or the like?"    "No.    Jus' Rachel-Jane."


            I.    In which a Racing Auto comes from the East

                    # To be sung delicately, to an improvised tune. #
    This is the order of the music of the morning: -
    First, from the far East comes but a crooning.
    The crooning turns to a sunrise singing.
    Hark to the calm-horn, balm-horn, psalm-horn.
    Hark to the faint-horn, quaint-horn, saint-horn....

                    # To be sung or read with great speed. #
    Hark to the pace-horn, chase-horn, race-horn.
    And the holy veil...

Vachel Lindsay

The Passage-Birds.

    Far, far away, over land and sea,
When Winter comes with his cold, cold breath,
And chills the flowers to the sleep of death,
    Far, far away over land and sea,
Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee.

Round the old grey spire in the evening calm,
    No more they circle in sportive glee,
Hearing the hum of the vesper psalm,
And the swell of the organ so far below;
    But far, far away, over land and sea,
In the still mid-air the swift Passage-birds go.

    Over the earth that is scarcely seen
    Through the curtain of vapour that waves between,
O'er city and hamlet, o'er hill and plain,
    O'er forest green, and o'er mountain hoar,
    They flit like shadows, and pass the shore,
And wing their way o'er the pathless main.

...

Walter R. Cassels