Stephen Vincent Benet Poems

I rained quite a lot, that spring. You woke in the morning
And saw the sky still clouded, the streets still wet,
...

My friend went to the piano; spun the stool
A little higher; left his pipe to cool;
Picked up a fat green volume from the chest;
And propped it open.
...

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,
...

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

We had expected everything but revolt
And I kind of wonder myself when they started thinking--
But there’s no dice in that now.
...

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
...