What the Scare-crow Said

    The dim-winged spirits of the night
    Do fear and serve me well.
    They creep from out the hedges of
    The garden where I dwell.

    I wave my arms across the walk.
    The troops obey the sign,
    And bring me shimmering shadow-robes
    And cups of cowslip-wine.

    Then dig a treasure called the moon,
    A very precious thing,
    And keep it in the air for me
    Because I am a King.

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

Genesis

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

To Mary Pickford - Moving-picture Actress

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

On Reading Omar Khayyam

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Lion

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 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

The Crowkeeper

    "She gallops night by night through lovers' brains...."

    I see grindstones in the sky,
    pots of tulips overturned
    - big tug of the reins
    and chestnut hair
    is seen before the windowpane
    with chance & more chance lost to
    frost or hungry bees
    this still autumn eve.

    Darling,
    walls that division us
    are envelopes of passion
    bridging trust, seal it
    lest it rust.

    Skeletal scrapings
    make for poor bedding
    (this poor rhinoceros of lies)
    the devil gliding about so disguised
    on his tentacle and toenail chair
    (inviting lair) or is it
    hiccup and bandaged prayer
    yet stalwart wall is a rosary bead
    thick ale and bread to hungry snail

Paul Cameron Brown

The Screech-Owl.

When, one by one, the stars have trembled through
Eve's shadowy hues of violet, rose, and fire
As on a pansy-bloom the limpid dew
Orbs its bright beads; and, one by one, the choir
Of insects wakes on nodding bush and brier:
Then through the woods where wandering winds pursue
A ceaseless whisper like an eery lyre
Struck in the Erl-king's halls, where ghosts and dreams
Hold revelry, your goblin music screams,
Shivering and strange as some strange thought come true.

Brown as the agaric that frills dead trees,
Or those fantastic fungi of the woods
That crowd the dampness are you kin to these
In some mysterious way that still eludes
My fancy? you, who haunt the solitudes
With witch-like wailings? voice, that seems to freeze
Out of the darkness, like the scent...

Madison Julius Cawein

Popcorn, Glass Balls, and Cranberries (As it were)

        I. The Lion


    The Lion is a kingly beast.
    He likes a Hindu for a feast.
    And if no Hindu he can get,
    The lion-family is upset.

    He cuffs his wife and bites her ears
    Till she is nearly moved to tears.
    Then some explorer finds the den
    And all is family peace again.



        II.    An Explanation of the Grasshopper


    The Grasshopper, the grasshopper,
    I will explain to you: -
    He is the Brownies' racehorse,
    The fairies' Kangaroo.



        III.    The Dangerous Little Boy Fairies


    In fairyland the little boys
    Would rather fight than eat their meals.
    They like to chase a gauze-winged fly
    And catch and beat him till he ...

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

The Owlet

I

When dusk is drowned in drowsy dreams,
And slow the hues of sunset die;
When firefly and moth go by,
And in still streams the new moon seems
Another moon and sky:
Then from the hills there comes a cry,
The owlet's cry:
A shivering voice that sobs and screams,
With terror screams: -

"Who is it, who is it, who-o-o?
Who rides through the dusk and dew,
With a pair of horns,
As thin as thorns,
And face a bubble-blue? -
Who, who, who!
Who is it, who is it, who-o-o?"

II

When night has dulled the lily's white,
And opened wide the moonflower's eyes;
When pale mists rise and veil the skies,
And round the height in whispering flight
The night-wind sounds and sighs:
Then in the wood again it cries,
The owle...

Madison Julius Cawein