Vachel Lindsay

(November 10, 1879 – December 5, 1931 / Springfield, Illinois)

Vachel Lindsay Poems

1. Friends, I Will Not Cease 3/10/2015
2. The Voyage 3/23/2015
3. The Proud Farmer 1/3/2003
4. The Raft 1/3/2003
5. The Wizard In The Street 1/3/2003
6. John Bunny, Motion Picture Comedian 4/10/2010
7. The Rhymer’s Reply. Incense And Splendor 4/10/2010
8. The Queen Of Bubbles 1/3/2003
9. The Modest Jazz-Bird 4/10/2010
10. The Doll Upon The Topmost Bough 4/10/2010
11. To The United States Senate 1/3/2003
12. On Suddenly Receiving A Curl Long Refused 4/10/2010
13. What The Forester Said 4/10/2010
14. Our Guardian Angels And Their Children 1/3/2003
15. Honor Among Scamps 1/3/2003
16. Where Is David, The Next King Of Israel? 1/3/2003
17. What The Hyena Said 4/10/2010
18. On Receiving One Of Gloriana’s Letters 4/10/2010
19. Who Knows? 1/3/2003
20. What The Sexton Said 1/3/2003
21. Incense 1/3/2003
22. The Sun Says His Prayers 1/3/2003
23. Genesis 1/3/2003
24. What The Miner In The Desert Said 1/3/2003
25. Where Is The Real Non-Resistant 1/3/2003
26. Once More—to Gloriana 4/10/2010
27. How Samson Bore Away The Gates Of Gaza 1/3/2003
28. The Voice Of The Man Impatient With Visions And Utopias 4/10/2010
29. Edwin Booth 4/10/2010
30. What The Coal-Heaver Said 1/3/2003
31. Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress 1/3/2003
32. What The Ghost Of The Gambler Said 1/3/2003
33. The Prairie Battlements 1/3/2003
34. The Bankrupt Peace-Maker 1/3/2003
35. The Alchemist's Petition 1/3/2003
36. This, My Song, Is Made For Kerensky 1/3/2003
37. On Reading Omar Khayyam 1/3/2003
38. How I Walked Alone In The Jungles Of Heaven 1/3/2003
39. The Hearth Eternal 1/3/2003
40. The Drunkards In The Street 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Vachel Lindsay

The Congo: A Study Of The Negro Race


Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,
Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,
Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,
A deep rolling bass.
Pounded on the table,
Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom,
Hard as they were able,
Boom, boom, BOOM,
With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom,
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision.
I could not turn from their revel in derision.
More deliberate. Solemnly ...

Read the full of The Congo: A Study Of The Negro Race


Would I might wake in you the whirl-wind soul
Of Michelangelo, who hewed the stone
And Night and Day revealed, whose arm alone
Could draw the face of God, the titan high
Whose genius smote like lightning from the sky —
And shall he mold like dead leaves in the grave?
Nay he is in us! Let us dare and dare.
God help us to be brave.

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