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

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 Mouse that gnawed the Oak-tree Down

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

To Jane Addams at the Hague

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

To Mary Pickford - Moving-picture Actress

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Wizard in the Street

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.

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...

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

What the Gray-winged Fairy Said

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

    The moon's a gong, hung in the wild,
    Whose song the fays hold dear.
    Of course you do not hear it, child.
    It takes a FAIRY ear.

    The full moon is a splendid gong
    That beats as night grows still.
    It sounds above the evening song
    Of dove or whippoorwill.

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

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

What the Hyena Said

    The moon is but a golden skull,
    She mounts the heavens now,
    And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worms
    Are wreathed around her brow.

    The Moon-Worms are a doughty race:
    They eat her gray and golden face.
    Her eye-sockets dead, and molding head:
    These caverns are their dwelling-place.

    The Moon-Worms, serpents of the skies,
    From the great hollows of her eyes
    Behold all souls, and they are wise:
    With tiny, keen and icy eyes,
    Behold how each man sins and dies.

    When Earth in gold-corruption lies
    Long dead, the moon-worm butterflies
    On cyclone wings will reach this place -
    Yea, rear their brood on earth's dead face.

Vachel Lindsay