Vachel Lindsay

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

The Amaranth - Poem by Vachel Lindsay

Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here. . . .
Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns
And the tremendous Amaranth descends
Sweet with the glory of ten thousand dawns?

Does it not mean my God would have me say: —
"Whether you will or no, O city young,
Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you,
Flash and loom greatly all your marts among?"

Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep.
Such things I see, and some of them shall come
Though now our streets are harsh and ashen-gray,
Though our strong youths are strident now, or dumb.
Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town, shall rise.
Naught can delay it. Though it may not be
Just as I dream, it comes at last I know
With streets like channels of an incense-sea.


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Read poems about / on: city, flower, heaven, music, dream, sea, god, night, friend, hope, rose



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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