Stephen Vincent Benet Poems

My mind’s a map. A mad sea-captain drew it
Under a flowing moon until he knew it;
Winds with brass trumpets, puffy-cheeked as jugs,
...

The little letters dance across the page,
Flaunt and retire, and trick the tired eyes;
Sick of the strain, the glaring light, I rise
Yawning and stretching, full of empty rage
...

Army of Northern Virginia, army of legend,
Who were your captains that you could trust them so surely?
Who were your battle-flags?
...

Well, I was tired of life; the silly folk,
The tiresome noises, all the common things
I loved once, crushed me with an iron yoke.
I longed for the cool quiet and the dark,
...

I have fallen in love with American names,
The sharp names that never get fat,
The snakeskin-titles of mining-claims,
...

Eternally the choking steam goes up
From the black pools of seething oil. . . .
How merry
Those little devils are! They've stolen the pitchfork
...

To W. R. B.

And so, to you, who always were
Perseus, D'Artagnan, Lancelot
...

All night they marched, the infantrymen under pack,
But the hands gripping the rifles were naked bone
...

My father, he was a mountaineer,
His fist was a knotty hammer;
He was quick on his feet as a running deer,
...

Tobacco smoke drifts up to the dim ceiling
From half a dozen pipes and cigarettes,
Curling in endless shapes, in blue rings wheeling,
...