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Friends, I Will Not Cease

Vachel Lindsay
Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep. 
Such things I see, and some of them shall come, 
Though now or 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.

From "The Amaranth" by Vachel Lindsay, 1914.

From "The Amaranth" by Vachel Lindsay, 1914.

Vachel Lindsay

by this poet

poem
(In Springfield, Illinois)
 
It is portentous, and a thing of state   
That here at midnight, in our little town   
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,   
Near the old court-house pacing up and down,   
   
Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
He lingers where his children used to play,   
Or
poem
O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time,
You have no humble hours.
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears,
To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
Like fate's triumphant shears.
Your yellow heads are cut away,
It seems your reign is o'er.
By noon
poem
"There's machinery in the 
      butterfly;
   There's a mainspring to the 
      bee;
There's hydraulics to a daisy,
   And contraptions to a tree.

"If we could see the birdie
      That makes the chirping sound
With x-ray, scientific eyes,
   We could see the wheels go 
   round."

And I hope all men
Who