Willard Wattles

(1888-1950 / United States)

Kansas - Poem by Willard Wattles

From the surge of the western ocean and the roaring
of the sea,
From the Land of the Orange Blossom, thy daughter
cried to thee,
'Kansas, beloved Mother;'' so I with a heart as
Turn from the wooded hillside and vast Atlantic's
To the wind-swept Kansas prairies and golden seas
of grain,
With as desperate a longing and hands that stretch
as vain.
Not I with the crowded palette of genius-given
Crystallise into perfection the yearning of my
Her's is the sun-kissed rapture, her's is the gift
Only the blundering phrases of awkwardness are
And yet from the hills of longing thru severing
leagues between
I cry with the bitter aching of loneliness as keen.

Manhattan’s walls reecho with a million clamouring
The stars grow wan above her in the glory of her
The sea falls down before her like a lover at her
And rich is she in raiment of his purple, argosies
A queen upon a dais at the gateway of the world,
She is not half so lovely as the Prairie, dewdrop

The elms of Boston murmur, with ghostly memories,
And haunting echoes of the past speak still in cul-
tured ease;
But at her heart a grave-yard has festered with
It’s dead,
A white skull glistens underneath the garlands of
her head;
Arose the Kansas prairies, with brown and dusty
The wind-blown sweetheart of the Sun has gone
her lord to greet.
Not in the crowded cities of money-maddened men,
Not in the shaded cloister where Learning trims
her pen,
But out on the Kansas prairies, in purity of the
There are the great thoughts builded, visions of
empires begun;
Here on the wooded hillside I sicken in heart and
But some day, beloved Mother, I'm coming home

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010

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