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

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

Our Guardian Angels and Their Children

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Above the Battle's Front

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Hearth Eternal

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Rhymes for Gloriana - IV. In Praise of Gloriana's Remarkable Golden Hair

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.

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 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

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

On the Garden-wall

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

    Oh, once I walked a garden
    In dreams.    'Twas yellow grass.
    And many orange-trees grew there
    In sand as white as glass.
    The curving, wide wall-border
    Was marble, like the snow.
    I walked that wall a fairy-prince
    And, pacing quaint and slow,
    Beside me were my pages,
    Two giant, friendly birds.
    Half-swan they were, half peacock.
    They spake in courtier-words.
    Their inner wings a chariot,
    Their outer wings for flight,
    They lifted me from dreamland.
    We bade those trees good-night.
    Swiftly above the stars we rode.
    I looked below me soon.
    The white-walled garden I had ruled
    Was one lone flower - the moon.

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 Coal-heaver Said

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

    The moon's an open furnace door
    Where all can see the blast,
    We shovel in our blackest griefs,
    Upon that grate are cast
    Our aching burdens, loves and fears
    And underneath them wait
    Paper and tar and pitch and pine
    Called strife and blood and hate.

    Out of it all there comes a flame,
    A splendid widening light.
    Sorrow is turned to mystery
    And Death into delight.

Vachel Lindsay