The Potatoes' Dance Poem by Vachel Lindsay

The Potatoes' Dance

Rating: 2.7


(A Poem Game.)


I

"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"I saw a ball last night,
In honor of a lady,
In honor of a lady,
In honor of a lady,
Whose wings were pearly-white.
The breath of bitter weather,
The breath of bitter weather,
The breath of bitter weather,
Had smashed the cellar pane.
We entertained a drift of leaves,
We entertained a drift of leaves,
We entertained a drift of leaves,
And then of snow and rain.
But we were dressed for winter,
But we were dressed for winter,
But we were dressed for winter,
And loved to hear it blow
In honor of the lady,
In honor of the lady,
In honor of the lady,
Who makes potatoes grow,
Our guest the Irish lady,
The tiny Irish lady,
The airy Irish lady,
Who makes potatoes grow.


II

"Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the band,
Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand,
Kicking up the sand,
Kicking up the sand,
Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand.
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their arms were just the same.
They jigged and whirled and scrambled,
Jigged and whirled and scrambled,
Jigged and whirled and scrambled,
In honor of the dame,
The noble Irish lady
Who makes potatoes dance,
The witty Irish lady,
The saucy Irish lady,
The laughing Irish lady
Who makes potatoes prance.


III

"There was just one sweet potato.
He was golden brown and slim.
The lady loved his dancing,
The lady loved his dancing,
The lady loved his dancing,
She danced all night with him,
She danced all night with him.
Alas, he wasn't Irish.
So when she flew away,
They threw him in the coal-bin,
And there he is today,
Where they cannot hear his sighs
And his weeping for the lady,
The glorious Irish lady,
The beauteous Irish lady,
Who
Gives
Potatoes
Eyes."

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
CHRIS 20 August 2018

I thought your site would read the poem, but it just played music with flashing script. I didn't think much of the poem as I read it and hoped that hearing someone else read, hearing another's intonation, I might understand why he even bothered.

0 0 Reply
la verga parada 07 February 2018

este poema es una mierda, suicidate porfavor, has un bien a la comunidad de pendejos como tu familia y tu abuelita, XoXo

1 2 Reply
dywhey 07 February 2018

callate me has ofendido, mis bolas se calleron de mi boca cuando lei este poema glorioso, usted suicidate primero porfavor.

0 0 Reply
Brigid Courtney 14 April 2009

what a wacky, amazing poem! great stuff!

6 6 Reply
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Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay

Springfield, Illinois
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