The Moon is a Painter

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    He coveted her portrait.
    He toiled as she grew gay.
    She loved to see him labor
    In that devoted way.

    And in the end it pleased her,
    But bowed him more with care.
    Her rose-smile showed so plainly,
    Her soul-smile was not there.

    That night he groped without a lamp
    To find a cloak, a book,
    And on the vexing portrait
    By moonrise chanced to look.

    The color-scheme was out of key,
    The maiden rose-smile faint,
    But through the blessed darkness
    She gleamed, his friendly saint.

    The comrade, white, immortal,
    His bride, and more than bride -
    The citizen, the sage of mind,
    For whom he lived and died.

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 Bankrupt Peace Maker

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

What the Scare-crow Said

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

What the Coal-heaver Said

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Tale of the Tiger Tree

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

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What the Moon Saw

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    Two statesmen met by moonlight.
    Their ease was partly feigned.
    They glanced about the prairie.
    Their faces were constrained.
    In various ways aforetime
    They had misled the state,
    Yet did it so politely
    Their henchmen thought them great.
    They sat beneath a hedge and spake
    No word, but had a smoke.
    A satchel passed from hand to hand.
    Next day, the deadlock broke.

Vachel Lindsay

What Semiramis Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's a steaming chalice
        Of honey and venom-wine.
    A little of it sipped by night
        Makes the long hours divine.
    But oh, my reckless lovers,
        They drain the cup and wail,
    Die at my feet with shaking limbs
        And tender lips all pale.
    Above them in the sky it bends
        Empty and gray and dread.
    To-morrow night 'tis full again,
        Golden, and foaming red.

Vachel Lindsay

Drying their Wings

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)
        (What the Carpenter Said)


    The moon's a cottage with a door.
    Some folks can see it plain.
    Look, you may catch a glint of light,
    A sparkle through the pane,
    Showing the place is brighter still
    Within, though bright without.
    There, at a cosy open fire
    Strange babes are grouped about.
    The children of the wind and tide -
    The urchins of the sky,
    Drying their wings from storms and things
    So they again can fly.

Vachel Lindsay

Written for a Musician

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    Hungry for music with a desperate hunger
    I prowled abroad, I threaded through the town;
    The evening crowd was clamoring and drinking,
    Vulgar and pitiful - my heart bowed down -
    Till I remembered duller hours made noble
    By strangers clad in some surprising grace.
    Wait, wait, my soul, your music comes ere midnight
    Appearing in some unexpected place
    With quivering lips, and gleaming, moonlit face.

Vachel Lindsay

Prologue. A Sense of Humor

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    No man should stand before the moon
    To make sweet song thereon,
    With dandified importance,
    His sense of humor gone.

    Nay, let us don the motley cap,
    The jester's chastened mien,
    If we would woo that looking-glass
    And see what should be seen.

    O mirror on fair Heaven's wall,
    We find there what we bring.
    So, let us smile in honest part
    And deck our souls and sing.

    Yea, by the chastened jest alone
    Will ghosts and terrors pass,
    And fays, or suchlike friendly things,
    Throw kisses through the glass.

Vachel Lindsay

Moon Song

A child saw in the morning skies
The dissipated-looking moon,
And opened wide her big blue eyes,
And cried: "Look, look, my lost balloon!"
And clapped her rosy hands with glee:
"Quick, mother! Bring it back to me."

A poet in a lilied pond
Espied the moon's reflected charms,
And ravished by that beauty blonde,
Leapt out to clasp her in his arms.
And as he'd never learnt to swim,
Poor fool! that was the end of him.

A rustic glimpsed amid the trees
The bluff moon caught as in a snare.
"They say it do be made of cheese,"
Said Giles, "and that a chap bides there. . . .
That Blue Boar ale be strong, I vow -
The lad's a-winkin' at me now."

Two lovers watched the new moon hold
The old moon in her bright embrace.
Said she: "There's...

Robert William Service