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. On Receiving One Of Gloriana’s Letters 4/10/2010
17. Where Is David, The Next King Of Israel? 1/3/2003
18. What The Hyena Said 4/10/2010
19. Who Knows? 1/3/2003
20. What The Sexton Said 1/3/2003
21. Genesis 1/3/2003
22. What The Miner In The Desert Said 1/3/2003
23. Incense 1/3/2003
24. Once More—to Gloriana 4/10/2010
25. How Samson Bore Away The Gates Of Gaza 1/3/2003
26. Where Is The Real Non-Resistant 1/3/2003
27. The Voice Of The Man Impatient With Visions And Utopias 4/10/2010
28. Edwin Booth 4/10/2010
29. What The Coal-Heaver Said 1/3/2003
30. The Sun Says His Prayers 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 Bankrupt Peace-Maker 1/3/2003
34. The Alchemist's Petition 1/3/2003
35. This, My Song, Is Made For Kerensky 1/3/2003
36. On Reading Omar Khayyam 1/3/2003
37. The Prairie Battlements 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

On The Garden Wall

Oh, once I walked a garden
In dreams. 'Twas yellow grass.
And many orange-trees grew there
In sand as white as glass.
The curving, wide wall-border
Was marble, like the snow.
I walked that wall a fairy-prince
And, pacing quaint and slow,
Beside me were my pages,

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