With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses

    I saw Lord Buddha towering by my gate
    Saying:    "Once more, good youth, I stand and wait."
    Saying:    "I bring you my fair Law of Peace
    And from your withering passion full release;
    Release from that white hand that stabbed you so.
    The road is calling.    With the wind you go,
    Forgetting her imperious disdain -
    Quenching all memory in the sun and rain."

    "Excellent Lord, I come.    But first," I said,
    "Grant that I bring her these twelve roses red.
    Yea, twelve flower kisses for her rose-leaf mouth,
    And then indeed I go in bitter drouth
    To that far valley where your river flows
    In Peace, that once I found in every rose."

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 Trap

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

What the Forester Said

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Parvenu

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The City That Will Not Repent

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

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To Buddha

    Awake again in Asia, Lord of Peace,
    Awake and preach, for her far swordsmen rise.
    And would they sheathe the sword before you, friend,
    Or scorn your way, while looking in your eyes?

    Good comrade and philosopher and prince,
    Thoughtful and thoroughbred and strong and kind,
    Dare they to move against your pride benign,
    Lord of the Law, high chieftain of the mind?

                *****

    But what can Europe say, when in your name
    The throats are cut, the lotus-ponds turn red?
    And what can Europe say, when with a laugh
    Old Asia heaps her hecatombs of dead?

Vachel Lindsay

The Wedding of the Rose and the Lotos

    The wide Pacific waters
    And the Atlantic meet.
    With cries of joy they mingle,
    In tides of love they greet.
    Above the drowned ages
    A wind of wooing blows: -
    The red rose woos the lotos,
    The lotos woos the rose . . .

    The lotos conquered Egypt.
    The rose was loved in Rome.
    Great India crowned the lotos:
    (Britain the rose's home).
    Old China crowned the lotos,
    They crowned it in Japan.
    But Christendom adored the rose
    Ere Christendom began . . .

    The lotos speaks of slumber:
    The rose is as a dart.
    The lotos is Nirvana:
    The rose is Mary's heart.
    The rose is deathless, restless,
    The splendor of our pain:
    The flush and fire of labor
 ...

Vachel Lindsay

The Beggar's Valentine

    Kiss me and comfort my heart
    Maiden honest and fine.
    I am the pilgrim boy
    Lame, but hunting the shrine;

    Fleeing away from the sweets,
    Seeking the dust and rain,
    Sworn to the staff and road,
    Scorning pleasure and pain;

    Nevertheless my mouth
    Would rest like a bird an hour
    And find in your curls a nest
    And find in your breast a bower:

    Nevertheless my eyes
    Would lose themselves in your own,
    Rivers that seek the sea,
    Angels before the throne:

    Kiss me and comfort my heart,
    For love can never be mine:
    Passion, hunger and pain,
    These are the only wine

    Of the pilgrim bound to the road.
    He would rob no man of his own.
    Yo...

Vachel Lindsay

The Last Blossom

Though young no more, we still would dream
Of beauty's dear deluding wiles;
The leagues of life to graybeards seem
Shorter than boyhood's lingering miles.

Who knows a woman's wild caprice?
'It played with Goethe's silvered hair,
And many a Holy Father's "niece"
Has softly smoothed the papal chair.

When sixty bids us sigh in vain
To melt the heart of sweet sixteen,
We think upon those ladies twain
Who loved so well the tough old Dean.

We see the Patriarch's wintry face,
The maid of Egypt's dusky glow,
And dream that Youth and Age embrace,
As April violets fill with snow.

Tranced in her lord's Olympian smile
His lotus-loving Memphian lies, -
The musky daughter of the Nile,
With plaited hair and almond eyes.

Might...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

By the Spring, at Sunset

    Sometimes we remember kisses,
    Remember the dear heart-leap when they came:
    Not always, but sometimes we remember
    The kindness, the dumbness, the good flame
    Of laughter and farewell.

                    Beside the road
    Afar from those who said "Good-by" I write,
    Far from my city task, my lawful load.

    Sun in my face, wind beside my shoulder,
    Streaming clouds, banners of new-born night
    Enchant me now.    The splendors growing bolder
    Make bold my soul for some new wise delight.

    I write the day's event, and quench my drouth,
    Pausing beside the spring with happy mind.
    And now I feel those kisses on my mouth,
    Hers most of all, one little friend most kind.

Vachel Lindsay

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