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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..822fb39 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63554 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63554) diff --git a/old/63554-0.txt b/old/63554-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 213cf82..0000000 --- a/old/63554-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1775 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Going-to-the-Sun, by Vachel Lindsay - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook. - - -Title: Going-to-the-Sun - -Author: Vachel Lindsay - -Release Date: October 26, 2020 [EBook #63554] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOING-TO-THE-SUN *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - [Illustration] - - - - GOING-TO-THE-SUN - - - - - GOING-TO-THE-SUN - - BY - VACHEL LINDSAY - - AUTHOR OF “GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH - ENTERS HEAVEN,” “THE CONGO,” ETC. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - NEW YORK :: LONDON :: MCMXXIII - - [Illustration] - - COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -[Illustration] CONTENTS - - -PREFACE 1 - -WE START FOR THE WATERFALLS 8 - -GOING-TO-THE-SUN 10 - -THE MYSTIC ROOSTER OF THE MONTANA SUNRISE 12 - -THE BIRD CALLED “CURIOSITY” 14 - -THE THISTLE VINE 16 - -AND THEY LAUGHED 18 - -THE FAIRY CIRCUS 20 - -THE BATTLE-AX OF THE SUN 22 - -THE CHRISTMAS TREES 24 - -THE PHEASANT SPEAKS OF HIS BIRTHDAYS 26 - -THE MYSTIC UNICORN OF THE MOUNTAIN SUNSET 30 - -JOHNNY APPLESEED STILL FURTHER WEST 34 - -THE APPLE-BARREL OF JOHNNY APPLESEED 38 - -THE COMET OF GOING-TO-THE-SUN 40 - -THE BOAT WITH THE KITE STRING AND THE CELESTIAL -EYES 42 - -“SO MUCH THE WORSE FOR BOSTON” 50 - -THE ROCKETS THAT REACHED SATURN 72 - -MEDITATION 74 - -THE TRAVELER 76 - -ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 78 - -SOME BALLOONS GROW ON TREES 80 - -BABYLON’S GARDENS ARE BURNING 84 - -IN THE BEAUTY PARLORS 86 - -A POLITICAL CAMPAIGN 88 - -OLD JUDGE HOOT OWL 90 - -PEARLS 92 - -THE LAND HORSE AND THE SEA HORSE 94 - -CONCERNING THE MOUSE WITH TWO TAILS 98 - -WORDS ABOUT AN ANCIENT QUEEN 100 - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] ILLUSTRATIONS - - -Elements of Good Tea 1 - -We Start for the Waterfalls 9 - -Going-To-The-Sun 11 - -The Mystic Rooster of the Montana Sunrise 13 - -The Bird Called “Curiosity” 15 - -The Thistle Vine 17 - -And They Laughed (Poppies) 19 - -The Fairy Circus 21 - -The Battle-Ax of the Sun 23 - -The Christmas Trees 25 - -The Pheasant Speaks of His Birthdays 27 - -The Mystic Unicorn of the Montana Sunset 31 - -Johnny Appleseed Still Further West 35 - -And Fairies Came from Them 37 - -The Apple-Barrel of Johnny Appleseed 39 - -The Comet of Going-To-The-Sun 41 - -The Boat with the Kite String and the Celestial Eyes 43 - -The Big-Eared Rat of Boston 51 - -The Boston Mouse 53 - -The Tower-of-Babel Cactus 55 - -A Back-Bay Whale 59 - -The Bat 65 - -Rockets on the Way to Saturn 71 - -Rockets in Saturn 73 - -Meditation 75 - -The Moon is a Devil-Jester 77 - -Elizabeth Barrett Browning 79 - -Some Balloons Grow on Trees 81 - -Babylon’s Gardens are Burning 85 - -The Ape Rode the Jumbo 87 - -A Political Campaign 89 - -Old Judge Hoot Owl 91 - -Pearls 93 - -The Land Horse 95 - -The Sea Horse 97 - -Concerning the Mouse with Two Tails 99 - -Words about an Ancient Queen 101 - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] GOING-TO-THE-SUN - - - - -[Illustration] THE ELEMENTS OF GOOD TEA - - -This book is a sequel and a reply to a book by Stephen Graham, -explorer-poet, and Vernon Hill, artist. - -I had a splendid six weeks tramping with my lifetime friend, Stephen -Graham, in the Rockies. We climbed northwest through Glacier Park, -Montana, across the Canadian line into Alberta, Canada. There it is in -two sentences. - -It would take more than the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ to tell on how -many points I differ from Stephen, and on how many points I agree with -him. I had not the least idea that so much Lindsay was going into -Graham’s fireside notes--while I was asleep at noon, often recovering in -an hour from ten hours of restless, sleepless freezing by night. I do -not hold myself liable in court for any opinions of mine then recorded -by Graham. My daytime strength was not all given to thought, however, -but often to trying to keep Graham in sight when he was a quarter of a -mile ahead of me climbing mountains absolutely perpendicular. As I -remember our first fireside discussions, they were as to whether there -was actually such a person as Patrick Henry. Graham had an idea he was a -perverse invention of my own fancy. But he looked him up afterwards and -found there was such a man. As I remember our conversations after that -provocation, I kept trying to deliver to him from memory Bryce’s -_American Commonwealth_, unabridged, two volumes, one thousand pages -each. I remember those volumes well. I read every page in lonely country -hotels and on slow local trains while a Sunday field-worker for the -Anti-Saloon League. And now invisible leaves of Bryce often made the -chief ingredient of our tea. So I have indicated in the design. - -I did not tell Graham I was quoting the great ambassador, and so many -unsupported, heavy and formidable statements he quite properly hesitated -to write out, without further confirmation, though he drank them down -quite cheerfully. In the great blank spaces in Graham’s narrative where -he skips really splendid scenery, I was quoting Bryce--not always -singing hymns! - -The most authentic part of my book, the part Mr. Vernon Hill has left -out, is that the mountains were as steep as I have drawn them. His -mountains, otherwise quite correct, are not sufficiently perpendicular. -Vernon Hill, of course, was not physically with us on the expedition. He -was in London, drawing beautiful and famous Arcadian Calendars. When -later he came to illustrate Graham’s book in London, with Graham bending -over him, no one mentioned the fact that the mountains were all like -church steeples. Graham had not noticed it, and it did not occur to -Vernon Hill by wireless. Otherwise Vernon Hill was in excellent -communication with us, and every picture in Graham’s book expresses -exactly what Graham was talking to me about to make me forget the -tumbles and the briers, and to drown out the Bryce. - -After I had hunted for years and years to find an explorer-poet who -would take a long walk with me, and had scared every one off by the -elaborateness of the proposal, the first troubadour that took me up on -it almost broke my neck. It was a grand and awful time. The sensible -reviews of Graham’s book have been by Walter Prichard Eaton. He does not -discuss Graham’s opinions or mine. But he is very plain about the fact -that we almost slid into eternity. He has tried those mountains himself, -and he knows. He should write several more reviews. - -Stephen Graham is a lifetime friend, and I have assembled these drawings -as a sign thereof. But because I have been studying Hieroglyphics in the -Metropolitan Museum all this summer, and because United States -Hieroglyphics of my own invention are haunting me day and night, this -book is drawn, and not written. I serve notice on the critics--the -verses are most incidental, merely to explain the pictures. And so, -directly considered, it is much more a reply to Vernon Hill, the artist, -than to Stephen. - -The artist of the Arcadian Calendar discerned rightly. Graham and I -were in Arcady, even if it was a bit rough. - -Going-To-The-Sun Mountain is the very jewel of the mountains of Glacier -Park. All the tourists love it, and they are right. Its name fits it. - -Going-To-The-Sun Mountain is our American Fujiyama, as all testify who -have seen it. - -Obviously, an ingredient of good tea is talk on Egyptian Hieroglyphics. -I had an invisible copy of an Egyptian Grammar with me and I put a leaf -from it into every pot of tea. Graham did not take to the taste of it as -much as he did to the pages of Bryce, but he was nobly patient, as one -may say, with Egypt. - -The Hieroglyphics in this work are based on two more British-Egyptian -grammars he sent me after he reached London. Still, they may be -described as United States Hieroglyphics, and almost any Egyptologist -will be willing to describe them that way, having about as much to do -with Egypt as Egyptian cigarettes. The Egyptians were, briefly, a nation -of Vernon Hills, who drew their “Arcadian Calendar” for four thousand -years in red and black ink, or cut it in granite. _I keep thinking about -them!_ A free translation of the hieroglyphic inscription at the bottom -of the first picture following is: - - +-----------------------------------------------+ - | _The beating heart of the waterfall of the | - | double truth, as it appears to a scribe, | - | a servant of Thoth--Thoth, who is god of | - | picture-writing, photoplays and hieroglyphics,| - | and an intense admirer of waterfalls._ | - +-----------------------------------------------+ - - -With this start, the reader can go straight through the book without a -mistake. - -Now, a last word as to the seal, _The Elements of Good Tea_. - -On the southern side of the Canadian-United States boundary, just as we -reached it, our coffee gave out. Most symbolical happening! There in the -deep woods, as we passed to the northern side, Graham said with a sigh -of insatiable anticipation: “Now we will have some tea.” We had had tea -all along, alternated with coffee. But now Stephen, on his own heath, -was emphatic about it. So he made tea, a whole potful, with a kick like -a battering ram, and I drank my half. - -Certainly the most worth-while thing in Stephen’s book, and mine, is a -matter known to all men long before the books were written. That is, -that a Britisher and a United Stateser can cross the Canadian-American -line together and discover that it is hardly there; can discover that an -international boundary can be genuine and eternal and yet friendly. If -there is one thing on which Stephen and I will agree till the Judgment -Day, it is that all the boundaries in the world should be as open, and -as happy, as the Canadian-United States line. To many diplomats such a -boundary is incredible, and yet it exists, one of the longest in the -world. - - VACHEL LINDSAY - - - - -WE START WEST FOR THE WATERFALLS - - - Tricking us, making our hearts their prey, - The dreams of the dreams, with books of the dreams, - Haunt the homes of the town this day; - The visions of rivers, with rhymes of the waterfalls, - Haunt the yards of the town this day; - The fairies of the fairies, with the flowers of the fairies, - Haunt the factories of the town this day; - And we throw them kisses, and they fly away. - - Tricking us, making our hearts their prey, - The angels of the angels, with the flags of the angels, - Haunt the clouds above the town this day, - And we throw them kisses and they fly away. - And they call us west to the glacial mountains, - To the mines that are books, to the natural fountains. - -[Illustration] - - - - -GOING-TO-THE-SUN - - - The mountain peak called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - In Glacier Park, - Is the most gorgeous one, - And when the sun comes down to it, it glows - With emerald and rose. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE MYSTIC ROOSTER OF THE MONTANA SUNRISE - - - On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - I saw the rooster that no storm can tame, - The center of the sun was but his eye, - His comb was but the sun rays and the flame. - There in the Glacier Park, above white glaciers, - There, above Montana and the west, - He crowed and called his boast around the world, - Emotion shook his red embroidered vest. - There is humor in the very biggest rooster, - But even more magnificence than fun. - I laugh because he acted like a rooster, - I am solemn, for he was the biggest one. - I like a rooster or a turkey gobbler, - I like their forthright impudence at times. - They are neither larks, nor trilling nightingales, - And yet they always sing in splendid rhymes. - When I heard the vast bird of the sunrise crying, - The world held not one inch of silly prose. - Any rooster is a flowerlike fowl, - And this one was a crimson Yankee rose. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BIRD CALLED “CURIOSITY” - - - Round the mountain peak called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - In Glacier Park, a steep and soaring one, - Circled a curious bird with pointed nose - Who led us on to every cave, and rose - And swept through every cloud, then brought us berries, - And all the acid gifts the mountain carries, - And let us guess which ones were good to eat. - And even when we slept his sharp wings beat - The weary fire, or shook the tree-top cones, - Or rattled dead twigs like a fairy’s bones. - The vulgar bird, “Curiosity”! When we - Were tired, and lean, and shaking at the knee, - We put this bird in harness. He was strong - As any ostrich, pulled our packs along, - Helped us up over the next annoying wall, - And dragged us to the chalet, and the tourists’ resting hall. - - And when once more we were young, well-fed men, - He beat the door to call us forth again. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE THISTLEVINE - - - The Thistlevine saw the butterflies - Disappear through the morning skies. - -[Illustration] - - - - -AND THEY LAUGHED - - - By the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - A dizzy mountain, where paths twist round and round - And nothing in sober order can be found-- - I asked the poppies: “What fairies do you see?” - And they shook their long stems, and they laughed at me. - -[Illustration: - -AND -THEY -LAUGHED - -VACHEL LINDSAY 1922] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE FAIRY CIRCUS - - - A fairy ran a circus - With a pigeon puffed and proud, - A humble bullfrog - And a rather solid cloud. - - She wore her underwear, - The rest wore what they had, - The frog wore a blue coat - Just like his dad. - - The pigeon wore his feathers - And spread himself--O My! - The cloud wore sunshine - He gathered in the sky. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BATTLE-AX OF THE SUN - - - On the mountain peak I reached the drift - And I took it for a Christmas gift, - And I made ten soldiers out of snow. - - But the battle-ax of my fairy foe - Cut to the ground my men of snow. - - And who was he, my fairy foe, - Who brought my snowy army low? - - The mountain sun was my fairy foe. - -[Illustration: THE BATTLE-AX OF THE SUN] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE CHRISTMAS TREES - - - On the high slope of Going-To-The-Sun - Is a stormy Christmas, all year round, - And snow-filled Christmas trees abound. - -[Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY, 1922] - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE PHEASANT SPEAKS OF HIS BIRTHDAYS - - - Up the good slope of Going-To-The-Sun, - I saw the Pheasant-Of-The-Sunrise fly. - Jewels in his feathers, mixed with dew. - Dew and jewels made his jeweled eye. - He paused to make a sonnet, which he sang, - Though nowhere else are pheasants sonneteers. - He emphasized with swooping and with skipping, - With winkings and intoxicated leers. - And how the bushes twinkled as he caroled: - - “Each morning is another birthday, friend. - And I have lived so many happy birthdays! - There are gifts with all the suns that here ascend! - Each bush, you see, has an unextinguished candle - And angel-food, and icing, and candy flowers, - And this long vine that climbs from earth to heaven - Gives me thoughts, and most erratic powers. - I eat its scarlet berries and its frosting. - If I choose, it is my present every day. - Then I can fly straight up to heaven’s doorstep - Following the green line all the way. - -[Illustration] - - “And then I tumble like a limber leaf - To my nest here, and another year is done - Or another thousand years, what does it matter - On the mountain peak called ‘Going-To-The-Sun’?” - - - - -THE MYSTIC UNICORN OF THE MONTANA SUNSET - - - On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - I saw the Unicorn-No-Storm-Can-Tame. - The center of the sun was but his eye, - His mane was but the sun rays and the flame. - There in that Glacier Park, above green pastures, - There above Stephen’s camp fire in the rocks, - He foamed and pawed and whinnied round the world, - His feathered sides and plumes and bristling locks - Seemed but the banners of a great announcement - That unicorns were spry as heretofore, - That not a camp fire of the world was dead, - That dragons lived in them, and thousands more - Camp-born, were clawing at the clouds of Asia, - Were rising with to-morrow’s dawn for men, - Camp-fire dragons, with the ancient unicorn - Bringing the Rosicrucian days again. - Any unicorn can drive away - Any thoughts the grown-up race has spoiled. - When I heard the Unicorn-of-Sunset ramping - New fancies in my veins bubbled and boiled. - -[Illustration] - - Any unicorn is worth his oats, - And so we fed him bacon, and we made - An extra cup of tea, which he drank. - Then he curled up coltwise, and in slumber sank. - Dragons sprang up, next day, where he had stayed. - They were in Fujiyama silks arrayed, - Or spoke of Everest to Stephen. Then began - Discussing the strange peak in Darien - That poets climb to see the Pacific well. - How Stephen climbed it later, I will let him tell. - Following the Unicorn-No-Storm-Can-Tame - Alone, in tropic woods, is a great game. - - - - -JOHNNY APPLESEED STILL FURTHER WEST - - - On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - I saw old Johnny Appleseed once more. - He ate an apple, threw away the core. - Then turned and smiled and slackly watched it fall - Into a crevice of the mountain wall. - In an instant there was an apple tree, - The roots split up the rocks beneath our feet, - And apples rolled down the green mountainside - And fairies popped from them, flying and free! - -[Illustration] - -And -Fairies -Came from them. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE APPLE-BARREL OF JOHNNY APPLESEED - - - On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - I saw gray Johnny Appleseed at prayer - Just as the sunset made the old earth fair. - Then darkness came; in an instant, like great smoke, - The sun fell down as though its great hoops broke - And dark rich apples, poured from the dim flame - Where the sun set, came rolling toward the peak, - A storm of fruit, a mighty cider-reek, - The perfume of the orchards of the world, - From apple-shadows: red and russet domes - That turned to clouds of glory and strange homes - Above the mountain tops for cloud-born souls:-- - Reproofs for men who build the world like moles, - Models for men, if they would build the world - As Johnny Appleseed would have it done-- - Praying, and reading the books of Swedenborg - On the mountain top called “Going-To-The-Sun.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE COMET OF GOING-TO-THE-SUN - - - On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - A comet stopped to drink from a cool spring - And like a spirit-harp began to sing - To us, then hurried on to reach the sun. - We called him “Homer’s soul,” and “Milton’s wing.” - The harp-sound stayed, though he went up and on. - It turned to thunder, when he had quite gone-- - And yet was like a soft voice of the sea, - And every whispering root and every blade of grass - And every tree - In the whole world, and brought thoughts of old songs - That blind men sang ten thousand years ago, - And all the springtime hearts of every nation know. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE BOAT WITH THE KITE STRING AND THE CELESTIAL EYES - - - On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - I sat alone; while Stephen explored higher, - I dragged in sticks and logs and kept our fire. - - On soft-winged sails of meditation - My boat of spiral shells and flowers, - And fluffy clouds and twinkling hours, - My thought-boat went with the sun all day - Over the glaciers, far away. - I sat alone, but the chipmunks knew - My boat was high, and plain to view. - - I flew my ship like a kite. The thread - Was a cobweb silk, fine and thin, - That came from out the palm of my hand. - There I saw the ship begin. - From the gypsy’s life line thence it came - - A feather of mist that flew to the dawn, - And I felt the spool in my wrist unwind, - And I saw the feather on heaven’s lawn, - Now a glimmering ship like a lark awake. - And the kite string sang, but did not break. - -[Illustration] - - It stretched like the string of a violin - Played by invisible tides and waves. - It sang of Springfield yet to be. - It sang of the dead hours in their graves. - - And of the United States to be, - And of all the map stretched out below. - And my kite had pansy eyes in its wings, - And I saw the states in their bloom and glow - Yet a child’s block-map, and nothing more, - Flat patterns on a playroom floor. - - Texas the fort, by the river to the south, - Michigan a pheasant with a leaf in its mouth, - Illinois an ear of corn, in the shock, - Maine a moose-horn, gray as a rock. - California a whale, in gilded mail, - Montana, a ranch of alfalfa and clover, - - Montana with its mountain called “Going-To-The-Sun,” - An outdoor temple for the singer and the rover, - Wyoming a range for a summer lark, - With sparkling trails, and its Yellowstone Park, - Colorado an Indian tent for the world, - Where the smokes of care-free camps are curled, - Arizona a mission in the desert for all time, - Where the nerves find peace, and thoughts find rhyme, - New Mexico a clay pueblo full of dreams, - Eldorado in its valleys, ghosts by its streams. - Utah a throne for a grandeur unknown, - For haughty hearts, with ways of their own. - Nevada the cabin of Mark Twain in his youth, - Where he mined in the cañons, where he dug for the truth. - Washington a western soldier’s tent, - Idaho a chair for a president, - North and South Dakota, one buffalo hide, - Oregon a lumber mill on a mountain side, - Nebraska, Oklahoma, cowboy pistols pointing west - Kansas a wheat field where I, once, was a guest, - Iowa a corn pone sizzling hot, - Minnesota a farmer’s coffee-pot. - Arkansas a steamboat at Mark Twain’s door, - Missouri Mark Twain’s raft on the shore. - Louisiana a cavalier’s boot, just the thing - When we wade toward the mouth of the delta in the spring. - Mississippi a cotton scales, - Alabama many cotton bales, - Georgia a peach-basket red, - Florida a wild turkey’s head, - North Carolina a crane, flying through a cloud, - South Carolina a soldier, with head unbowed, - West Virginia, the raccoon, shrewd and slow, - Tennessee Bob Taylor’s fiddle and bow, - Virginia Thomas Jefferson’s mountain and shroud, - Kentucky the log cradle of the proud. - Maryland a plow, Delaware a pruning hook, - Indiana Riley’s Hoosier book, - Wisconsin a caldron, cool it who can, - Ohio Johnny Appleseed’s park for man. - Vermont a poet’s house, with waterfall and fern, - Where Frost writes songs that the world will learn. - - New Jersey the doorstep of the nation, - Pennsylvania the front room of the nation, - Where once Penn welcomed all creation - And let them sleep on the grassy floor - And let them eat the wild berries and explore. - Rhode Island, Roger Williams’ holy place, - Connecticut, an arbor of innocence and grace - Filled with flowers, and souls like lace, - Especially one little girl six years young - Who tells me stories in the fairy tongue. - - New Hampshire the mast of the Mayflower, - Massachusetts the prow of the Mayflower, - Most famous ark forevermore. - - The whole map a temple, if we patiently read, - With the statue of Liberty in majesty to plead - For Arcady to come once more, - And with New York on guard, - New York a sentinel, - New York a lion by the door. - - By my camp fire I grew older, - There were chipmunks on my shoulder, - While I saw the world, - With the eyes of my boat, - As one land, - With Asia and Alaska by the ice bound as one, - The Aurora Borealis was a cross bright as the sun. - I seemed to live through myriad days. - My eyes looked down like searching rays. - I took my flight over many races, - I saw, in my thought, all human faces. - And my spirit had its fill. - And the thread in my wrist wound in again - The cobweb shortened, strand on strand, - And my little ship came back to land - And was only a feather in my hand. - - - - -SO MUCH THE WORSE FOR BOSTON - - -[Sidenote: - -_Some words about singing this song, -Are written this border along._] - - I read the aspens like a book, and every leaf was signed, - And I climbed above the aspen-grove to read what I could find - On Mount Clinton, Colorado, I met a mountain-cat. - I will call him “Andrew Jackson,” and I mean no harm by that. - He was growling, and devouring a terrific mountain-rat. - But when the feast was ended, the mountain-cat was kind, - And showed a pretty smile, and spoke his mind. - “I am dreaming of old Boston,” he said, and wiped his jaws. - -[Illustration: THE BIG EARED RAT OF BOSTON] - - “I have often HEARD of Boston,” and he folded in his paws, - “Boston, Massachusetts, a mountain bold and great. - I will tell you all about it, if you care to curl and wait. - -[Sidenote: - -_If I cannot sing in the aspens’ tongue, -If I know not what they say, -Then I have never gone to school, -And have wasted all my day._] - - “In the Boston of my beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers are in bloom, - When storm-lilies and storm-thistles and storm-roses are in bloom, - The faithful cats go creeping through the catnip-ferns, - _And_ rainbows, _and_ sunshine, _and_ gloom, - And pounce upon the Boston Mice, that tremble underneath the flowers, - And pounce upon the big-eared rats, and drag them to the tomb. - For we are Tom-policemen, vigilant and sure. - We keep the Back Bay ditches and potato cellars pure. - Apples are not bitten into, cheese is let alone. - -[Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY 1922 - -THE BOSTON MOUSE WAITS IN TERROR OF THE MOUNTAIN-CAT, UNDER THE SHADOW -OF THE STORM-ROSE] - -[Sidenote: - -_Come, let us whisper of men and beasts -And joke as the aspens do, -And yet be solemn in their way, -And tell our thoughts -All summer through, -In the morning, -In the frost, -And in the midnight dew._] - - Sweet corn is left upon the cob, and the beef left on the bone. - Every Sunday morning, the Pilgrims give us codfish balls, - Because we keep the poisonous rats from the Boston halls.” - And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat. - “I have never seen, in the famous Hub, suppression of the rat.” - “So much the worse for Boston,” said the whiskery mountain-cat. - - And the cat continued his great dream, closing one shrewd eye: - “The Tower-of-Babel Cactus blazes above the sky. - Fangs and sabers guard the buds and crimson fruits on high. - Yet cactus-eating eagles and black hawks hum through the air. - When the pigeons weep in Copley Square, look up, those wings are there, - -[Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY 1922 - -THE TOWER-OF-BABEL CACTUS BLAZES ABOVE THE SKY] - -[Sidenote: - -_The mountain-cat seems violent, -And of no good intent. -Yet read his words so gently -No bird will leave its tree, -No child will hate the simper or the noise -And hurry away from you and me. -Read like a meditative, catlike willow-tree._] - -[Sidenote: - -_Some words about singing this song, -Are scattered this border along._] - - Proud Yankee birds of prey, overshadowing the land, - Screaming to younger Yankees of the self-same brand, - Whose talk is like the American flag, snapping on the summit-pole, - Sky-rocket and star-spangled words, round sunflower words, - they use them whole. - There are no tailors in command, men seem like trees in honest leaves. - Their clothes are but their bark and hide, and sod and binding - for their sheaves. - Men are as the shocks of corn, as natural as alfalfa fields. - And no one yields to purse or badge; only to sweating manhood yields, - To natural authority, to wisdom straight from the new sun. - Who is the bull-god of the herd? The strongest and the shaggiest one. - Or if they preen at all, they preen with Walter Raleigh’s - gracious pride:-- - The forest-ranger! One grand show! With gun and spade slung at his side! - Up on the dizzy timber-line, arbiter of life and fate, - Where sacred frost shines all the year, and freezing bee - and mossflower mate. - -[Sidenote: - -_Read like the Mariposa with the stately stem, -With green jade leaves like ripples and like waves, -And white jade petals, -Smooth as foam can be-- -The Mariposa lily, that is leaning upon the young stream’s hem, -Speaking grandly to that larger flower -That grows down toward the sea, hour after hour -Hunting for the Pacific storms and caves._] - - “Boston is tough country, and the ranger rides with death, - Plunges to stop the forest fire against the black smoke’s breath, - Buries the cattle killed by eating larkspur lush and blue, - Shoots the calf-thieves, lumber-thieves, and gets train-robbers too. - -[Sidenote: - -_Some words about singing this song, -Are scattered this border along._] - - Governor and Sheriff obey his ordering hand, - Following his ostrich plume across the amber sand. - “But often, for lone days he goes, exploring cliffs afar, - And chants his King James’ Bible to tarantula and star. - I hear him read Egyptian tales, as he rides by in the dawn. - I am sometimes an Egyptian cat. My crudities are gone. - He spells, in Greek, that Homer, as he hurries on alone. - I hear him scan at Virgil, as I hide behind a stone. - “He had kept me fond of Hawthorne, and Thoreau, cold and wise. - The silvery waves of Walden Pond, gleam in a bobcat’s eyes. - He has taught us grateful beasts to sing, like Orpheus of old. - The Boston forest ranger brings back the Age of Gold.” - - And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat. - -[Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY 1922 - -A BACK-BAY WHALE] - - “I have never heard, in the cultured Hub, of rowdy men like that.” - “So much the worse for Boston,” said the Rocky Mountain cat. - -[Sidenote: - -_Sing like the Mariposa to the stream that seeks the sea, -Speak like that flower, -With still, -Olympian jest, -And cuplike word -Filling the hour._] - - And the cat purred on, in his great dream, as one who - seeks the noblest ends:-- - “Higher than the Back Bay whales, that spout and leap, - and bite their friends, - Higher than those Moby-Dicks, the Boston Lover’s trail ascends. - Higher than the Methodist, or Unitarian spire, - Beyond the range of any fence of bowlder or barbed wire, - Telling to each other what the Boston Boys have done, - The lodge-pole pines go towering to the timber-line and sun. - And their whisper stirs love’s fury in each pantherish girl-child, - Till she dresses like a columbine, or a bleeding heart gone wild. - Like a harebell, golden aster, bluebell, Indian arrow, - Blue jay, squirrel, meadow lark, loco, mountain sparrow. - Mayflower, sagebrush, dying swan, they court in disarray. - The masquerade, in Love’s hot name, is like a forest-play. - And she is held in worship who adores the noblest boys. - So miner-lovers bring her new amazing pets and toys. - Mewing, prowling hunters bring her grizzlies in chains. - Ranchers bring red apples through the silver rains. - In the mountain of my beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers - Are in bloom, - The Boston of my beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers - Are in bloom. - There are just such naked waterfalls, as are roaring there below. - For the springs of Boston Common are from priceless summer snow. - Serene the wind-cleared Boston peaks, and there white rabbits run - Like funny giant snowflakes, hopping in the sun. - The ptarmigan will leap and fly and clutter through the drift - And the baby ptarmigans ‘peep, peep,’ when the weasel eyelids lift. - And where the pools are still and deep, dwarf willows see themselves, - And the Boston Mariposas bend, like mirror-kissing elves. - White is the gypsum cliff, and white the snowbird’s warm, - deep-feathered home, - White are the cottonwood and birch, white is the fountain-foam. - - “In the waterfalls from the sunburnt cliffs, the bold - nymphs leap and shriek - The wrath of the water makes them fight, its kisses make them weak. - - With shoulders hot with sunburn, with bodies rose and white, - And streaming curls like sunrise rays, or curls like flags of night, - Flowing to their dancing feet, circling them in storm, - And their adorers glory in each lean, Ionic form. - Oh, the hearts of women, then set free. They live the life of old - That chickadees and bobcats sing, the famous Age of Gold.... - They sleep and star-gaze on the grass, their red-ore camp fires shine, - Like heaps of unset rubies spilled on velvet superfine. - And love of man and maid is when the granite weds the snow-white stream. - The ranch house bursts with babies. In the wood-lot deep eyes gleam, - Buffalo children, barking wolves, fuming cinnamon bears. - Human mustangs kick the paint from the breakfast-table chairs.” - - And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat. - “I have never heard, in the modest Hub, of a stock ill-bred as that.” - “So much the worse for Boston,” said the lecherous mountain-cat. - - And the cat continued with the dream, as the snow blew round in drifts. - “The caves beneath the craggy sides of Boston hold tremendous gifts - For many youths that enter there, and lift up every stone that lifts. - They wander in, and wander on, finding all new things they can, - Some forms of jade or chrysoprase, more rare than radium for man. - And the burro trains, to fetch the loot, are jolly fool parades. - The burros flap their ears and bray, and take the steepest grades. - Or loaded with long mining-drills, and railroad rails, - and boards for flumes, - Up Beacon Hill with fossil bats, swine bones from geologic tombs, - Or loaded with cliff-mummies of lost dwellers of the land. - Explorers’ yells and bridle bells sound above the sand. - - “In the desert of my beauty-sleep, when rainflowers - Will not bloom, - In the Boston of my beauty-sleep, when storms - Will not bloom, - -[Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY 1922 - -THE BAT] - - By Bunker Hill’s tall obelisk, till the August sun awakes, - I brood and stalk blue shadows, and my mad heart breaks. - Thoughts of a hunt unutterable ring the obelisk around. - And a thousand glorious sphinxes spring, singing, from the ground. - Very white young Salem witches ride them down the west. - The gravel makes a flat, lone track, the eye has endless rest. - Fair girls and beasts charge, dreaming, through the - salt-sand white as snow, - Hunting the three-toed pony, while mysterious slaughters flow. - And the bat from the salt desert sucks the clouds on high - Until they fall in ashes, and all the sky is dry. - Oh, the empty Spanish Missions, where the bells ring without hand, - As we drive the shadowy dinosaurs and mammoths through the sand.” - - And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat. - “I have never seen, in the sun-kissed Hub, circuses like that.” - “So much the worse for you, my cub,” said the slant-eyed mountain-cat. - - And the cat continued with his yarn, while I stood there marveling:-- - “I here proclaim that I am not a vague, an abstract thing. - I like to eat the turkey-leg, the lamb, the chickenwing. - Yet the cat that knows not fasting, the cat that knows not dream, - That has not drunk dim mammoth-blood from the long-dead desert stream, - That has not rolled in the alkali-encrusted pits of bones - By the saber-toothed white tiger’s cave, where he kicked - the ancient stones, - Has not known sacred Boston. Our gods are burning ore. - Our Colorado gods are the stars of heaven’s floor. - But the god of Massachusetts is a Tiger they adore. - - “From that saber-tooth’s ghost-purring goes the whispered word of power - In the sunset, in the moonlight, in the purple sunrise hour:-- - That an Indian chief is born, in a teepee, to the west, - That a school of rattlesnakes is rattling, on the mountain’s breast, - That an opal has been grubbed from the ground by a mole, - That a bumble-bee has found a new way to save his soul. - In Egyptian granite Boston, the rumor has gone round - That new ways to tame the whirlwind have been marvelously found. - That a Balanced Rock has fallen, that a battle has been won - In the soul of some young touch-me-not, some tigerish Emerson.” - - And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat. - “Boston people do not read their Emerson like that.” - “So much the worse for Boston,” said the self-reliant cat. - Then I saw the cat there towering, like a cat cut from a hill:-- - A prophet-beast of Nature’s law, staring with stony will, - Pacing on the icy top, then stretched in drowsy thought, - Then, listening, on tiptoe, to the voice the snowwind brought, - Tearing at the fire-killed pine trees, kittenish again, - Then speaking like a lion, long made president of men:-- - “There are such holy plains and streams, there are such - sky-arched spaces, - There are life-long trails for private lives, and endless - whispering places. - Range is so wide there is not room for lust and poison breath - And flesh may walk in Eden, forgetting shame and death.” - - And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat. - “I have never heard, in Boston, of anything like that.” - “_Boston is peculiar._ - _Boston is mysterious._ - _You do not know your Boston_,” said the wise, fastidious cat, - And turned again to lick the skull of his prey, the mountain-rat! - And at that, he broke off his wild dream of a perfect human race. - And I walked down to the aspen grove where is neither time nor place, - Nor measurement, nor space, except that grass has room - And aspen leaves whisper on forever in their grace. - All day they watch along the banks. All night the perfume goes - From the Mariposa’s chalice to the marble mountain-rose, - In the Boston of their beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers - Are in bloom, - In the mystery of their beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers - Are in bloom. - -[Illustration: ROCKETS ON THE WAY TO SATURN] - - - - -THE ROCKETS THAT REACHED SATURN - - - On the Fourth of July sky rockets went up - Over the church and the trees and the town, - Stripes and stars, riding red cars. - Each rocket wore a red-white-and-blue gown, - And I did not see one rocket come down. - - Next day on the hill I found dead sticks, - Scorched like blown-out candle-wicks. - - But where are the rockets? Up in the sky. - As for the sticks, let them lie. - Dead sticks are not the Fourth of July. - - In Saturn they grow like wonderful weeds, - In some ways like weeds of ours, - Twisted and beautiful, straight and awry, - But nodding all day to the heavenly powers. - The stalks are smoke, - And the blossoms green light, - And crystalline fireworks flowers. - -[Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY 1922 - -ROCKETS IN SATURN] - - - - -MEDITATION - - - A spirit in soft slippers - Walked the Gulf Stream floor. - She opened many a cabin door - Of ships a long time underseas. - She read long-rest Egyptian books - And looked upon skull-faces, - And read their restless looks - Shining through the shadows - Of phosphorescent streaming waves,-- - Impatient for the Judgment horn - To lift them from their purple graves. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE TRAVELER - - - The Moon’s a devil-jester - Who makes himself too free. - The rascal is not always - Where he appears to be:-- - Sometimes he is in my heart-- - Sometimes in the sea. - Then tides are in my heart, - And tides are in the sea. - O traveler! abiding not - Where he pretends to be! - -[Illustration: THE MOON IS A DEVIL-JESTER - -VACHEL LINDSAY 1922] - - - - -ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING - - - Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Sat gossiping with Robert. - (She was really a raving beauty in her day. - With Mary Pickford curls in clouds and whirls.) - She was trying to think of something nice to say, - So she pointed to a page by her fellow star and sage, - And said: “I wish that _I_ could write that way!” - -[Illustration] - - - - -SOME BALLOONS GROW ON TREES - -FOR BETSY RICHARDS - - - Some balloons grow on trees, - On rubber trees, indeed. - You plant old rubber-boots for seed. - - Some balloons grow on trees. - If you want them red, - You pour red ink into the boots, - There in the balloon bed, - - And blue ink if you want them blue. - But if you desire them green, - Just let it pass. - They will turn green to match the grass. - - Some balloons grow on trees. - And if you do not spray them soon - With water-pots of hellebore - You will not have - One ripe balloon. - Mosquitoes will bite them in the night - Explode them like a thunder-storm - And give the town a fright. - -[Illustration] - - Some balloons grow on trees. - If they grow too fast - And are not gathered every day - The infants stand aghast - To see them tear up by the roots - The trees on which they grew - And scatter dirt on the front walk - And disappear from view - Into the blue. - - - - -BABYLON’S GARDENS ARE BURNING - - - There, on the shores of the river Euphrates, - Babylon’s gardens are burning this morning. - Prophets warned, - Prophets prophesied, - But no one in Babylon heeded the warning. - -[Illustration: BABYLON’S GARDENS ARE BURNING - -VACHEL LINDSAY 1922] - -[Illustration] - - - - -IN THE BEAUTY PARLORS - - - A jumbo so vain, and fond of his shape - Had himself beautified by a gray ape, - Tattooed and gilded with elegant signs, - The latest and merriest monkey designs. - Then the ape rode the jumbo - And made the land gape, - As he sat at his ease in the elephant chair. - He had tattooed himself with designs from a shawl, - And he gathered a grape with a self-possessed air, - And threw down a twig at another fine ape. - -[Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY 1922 - -THE APE RODE THE JUMBO] - -[Illustration] - - - - -A POLITICAL CAMPAIGN - - - A duck within the harem of a drake who ran for president - Swam in his parade, and made it an event. - She carried a big card of his footprints and she said:-- - “He waddles like an arrow, straight ahead.” - -[Illustration] - - - - -OLD JUDGE HOOT OWL - - - Old Judge Hoot Owl sits by his inkwell - Writing wills for the wealthy and swell. - He knows something he won’t tell. - Three little house flies, drowned in his inkwell. - Three little scandals in a peanut shell. - -[Illustration] - - - - -PEARLS - - - Now she was fond of jewelry, - The Lady-of-Fiddle-Dee-Dee, - So she built her house - Near an oyster bed, - Where the pearls were almost free. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE LAND HORSE AND THE SEA HORSE - - - The Land Horse - Everybody rides, - Until his eyes are dim. - -[Illustration: THE LAND HORSE] - -[Illustration] - - The Sea Horse! - Every wave he rides. - And nobody - Rides him. - -[Illustration: THE SEA HORSE - -VACHEL LINDSAY 1922] - -[Illustration] - - - - -CONCERNING THE MOUSE WITH TWO TAILS - - - The cat was astonished - To see the mouse stand there, - Waving two tails, - With a confident air. - -[Illustration] - - - - -WORDS ABOUT AN ANCIENT QUEEN - -INSCRIBED WITH APOLOGIES TO LYTTON STRACHEY - - - Queen Hat-shep-sut, pious and fat - Wore a hair net under her hat. - Queen Hat-shep-sut, restrained and refined - Wore a hair net over her mind. - -[Illustration] - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Going-to-the-Sun, by Vachel Lindsay - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOING-TO-THE-SUN *** - -***** This file should be named 63554-0.txt or 63554-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/5/63554/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook. - - -Title: Going-to-the-Sun - -Author: Vachel Lindsay - -Release Date: October 26, 2020 [EBook #63554] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOING-TO-THE-SUN *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image -unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" -style="margin:1em auto;max-width:15em;border:6px double gray;"> -<tr class="smcap"><td class="c"><a href="#CONTENTS">Contents</a><br /><a href="#ILLUSTRATIONS">Illustrations</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_ix.png" width="242" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="cun">GOING-TO-THE-SUN</p> - -<div class="bboxbld"> -<div class="bbox"> -<h1> -GOING-TO-THE-SUN</h1> - -<p class="cb">BY<br /> -VACHEL LINDSAY<br /><small> -<br /> -AUTHOR OF “GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH<br /> -ENTERS HEAVEN,” “THE CONGO,” ETC.<br /></small> -<br /><br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="100" -alt="" -/><br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br /> -NEW YORK :: LONDON :: MCMXXIII</p> -</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_verso.png" width="180" height="210" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -</div> - -<p class="c"><small> -COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY<br /> -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /></small></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a> -<img src="images/i_v.png" width="272" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /><span class="cun">CONTENTS</span></h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#page_1">Preface</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#WE_START_WEST_FOR_THE_WATERFALLS">We Start for the Waterfalls</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_8">8</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#GOING-TO-THE-SUN">Going-To-The-Sun</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_10">10</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_MYSTIC_ROOSTER_OF_THE_MONTANA_SUNRISE">The Mystic Rooster of the Montana Sunrise</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_12">12</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_BIRD_CALLED_CURIOSITY">The Bird Called “Curiosity”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_14">14</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_THISTLEVINE">The Thistle Vine</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_16">16</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#AND_THEY_LAUGHED">And They Laughed</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_18">18</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_FAIRY_CIRCUS">The Fairy Circus</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_20">20</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_BATTLE-AX_OF_THE_SUN">The Battle-Ax of the Sun</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_22">22</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_CHRISTMAS_TREES">The Christmas Trees</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_24">24</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_PHEASANT_SPEAKS_OF_HIS_BIRTHDAYS">The Pheasant Speaks of his Birthdays</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_26">26</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_MYSTIC_UNICORN_OF_THE_MONTANA_SUNSET">The Mystic Unicorn of the Mountain Sunset</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#JOHNNY_APPLESEED_STILL_FURTHER_WEST">Johnny Appleseed Still Further West</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_34">34</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_APPLE-BARREL_OF_JOHNNY_APPLESEED">The Apple-Barrel of Johnny Appleseed</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_38">38</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_COMET_OF_GOING-TO-THE-SUN">The Comet of Going-To-The-Sun</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_40">40</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_BOAT_WITH_THE_KITE_STRING_AND_THE_CELESTIAL_EYES">The Boat with the Kite String and the Celestial Eyes</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_42">42</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#SO_MUCH_THE_WORSE_FOR_BOSTON">“So Much the Worse for Boston</a>”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_50">50</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_ROCKETS_THAT_REACHED_SATURN">The Rockets that Reached Saturn</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_72">72</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#MEDITATION">Meditation</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_74">74</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_TRAVELER">The Traveler</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_76">76</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span> -<a href="#ELIZABETH_BARRETT_BROWNING">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_78">78</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#SOME_BALLOONS_GROW_ON_TREES">Some Balloons Grow on Trees</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_80">80</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#BABYLONS_GARDENS_ARE_BURNING">Babylon’s Gardens are Burning</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_84">84</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#IN_THE_BEAUTY_PARLORS">In the Beauty Parlors</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_86">86</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#A_POLITICAL_CAMPAIGN">A Political Campaign</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_88">88</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#OLD_JUDGE_HOOT_OWL">Old Judge Hoot Owl</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_90">90</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#PEARLS">Pearls</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_92">92</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#THE_LAND_HORSE_AND_THE_SEA_HORSE">The Land Horse and the Sea Horse</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_94">94</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#CONCERNING_THE_MOUSE_WITH_TWO_TAILS">Concerning the Mouse with Two Tails</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_98">98</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="smcap" valign="top"><a href="#WORDS_ABOUT_AN_ANCIENT_QUEEN">Words about an Ancient Queen</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_100">100</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_vi.png" width="159" height="172" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a> -<img src="images/i_vii.png" width="299" height="65" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /><span class="cun">ILLUSTRATIONS</span></h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td valign="top">Elements of Good Tea</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">We Start for the Waterfalls</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_9">9</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Going-To-The-Sun</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_11">11</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Mystic Rooster of the Montana Sunrise</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_13">13</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Bird Called “Curiosity”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Thistle Vine</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_17">17</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">And They Laughed (Poppies)</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_19">19</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Fairy Circus</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_21">21</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Battle-Ax of the Sun</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_23">23</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Christmas Trees</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_25">25</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Pheasant Speaks of His Birthdays</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_27">27</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Mystic Unicorn of the Montana Sunset</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_31">31</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Johnny Appleseed Still Further West</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_35">35</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">And Fairies Came from Them</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_37">37</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Apple-Barrel of Johnny Appleseed</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Comet of Going-To-The-Sun</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_41">41</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Boat with the Kite String and the Celestial Eyes</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_43">43</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Big-Eared Rat of Boston</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_51">51</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Boston Mouse</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_53">53</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Tower-of-Babel Cactus</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_55">55</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">A Back-Bay Whale</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_59">59</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span> -The Bat</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_65">65</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Rockets on the Way to Saturn</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_71">71</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Rockets in Saturn</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_73">73</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Meditation</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_75">75</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Moon is a Devil-Jester</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_77">77</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_79">79</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Some Balloons Grow on Trees</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_81">81</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Babylon’s Gardens are Burning</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_85">85</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Ape Rode the Jumbo</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_87">87</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">A Political Campaign</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_89">89</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Old Judge Hoot Owl</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_91">91</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Pearls</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_93">93</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Land Horse</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_95">95</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">The Sea Horse</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_97">97</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Concerning the Mouse with Two Tails</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_99">99</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top">Words about an Ancient Queen</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_101">101</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_viii.png" width="118" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="cun"> -<img src="images/i_half_title.png" width="229" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br />GOING-TO-THE-SUN</p> - -<h2><a name="THE_ELEMENTS_OF_GOOD_TEA" id="THE_ELEMENTS_OF_GOOD_TEA"></a> -<a href="images/i_001.png"> -<img src="images/i_001.png" width="477" height="439" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<br />THE ELEMENTS OF GOOD TEA</h2> - -<p>This book is a sequel and a reply to a book by Stephen Graham, -explorer-poet, and Vernon Hill, artist.</p> - -<p>I had a splendid six weeks tramping with my lifetime friend, Stephen -Graham, in the Rockies. We climbed northwest through Glacier Park, -Montana, across the Canadian line into Alberta, Canada. There it is in -two sentences.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span></p> - -<p>It would take more than the <i>Encyclopædia Britannica</i> to tell on how -many points I differ from Stephen, and on how many points I agree with -him. I had not the least idea that so much Lindsay was going into -Graham’s fireside notes—while I was asleep at noon, often recovering in -an hour from ten hours of restless, sleepless freezing by night. I do -not hold myself liable in court for any opinions of mine then recorded -by Graham. My daytime strength was not all given to thought, however, -but often to trying to keep Graham in sight when he was a quarter of a -mile ahead of me climbing mountains absolutely perpendicular. As I -remember our first fireside discussions, they were as to whether there -was actually such a person as Patrick Henry. Graham had an idea he was a -perverse invention of my own fancy. But he looked him up afterwards and -found there was such a man. As I remember our conversations after that -provocation, I kept trying to deliver to him from memory Bryce’s -<i>American Commonwealth</i>, unabridged, two volumes, one thousand pages -each. I remember those volumes well. I read every page in lonely country -hotels and on slow local trains while a Sunday field-worker for the -Anti-Saloon League. And now invisible leaves<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> of Bryce often made the -chief ingredient of our tea. So I have indicated in the design.</p> - -<p>I did not tell Graham I was quoting the great ambassador, and so many -unsupported, heavy and formidable statements he quite properly hesitated -to write out, without further confirmation, though he drank them down -quite cheerfully. In the great blank spaces in Graham’s narrative where -he skips really splendid scenery, I was quoting Bryce—not always -singing hymns!</p> - -<p>The most authentic part of my book, the part Mr. Vernon Hill has left -out, is that the mountains were as steep as I have drawn them. His -mountains, otherwise quite correct, are not sufficiently perpendicular. -Vernon Hill, of course, was not physically with us on the expedition. He -was in London, drawing beautiful and famous Arcadian Calendars. When -later he came to illustrate Graham’s book in London, with Graham bending -over him, no one mentioned the fact that the mountains were all like -church steeples. Graham had not noticed it, and it did not occur to -Vernon Hill by wireless. Otherwise Vernon Hill was in excellent -communication with us, and every picture in Graham’s book expresses -exactly what Graham was talking to me about to make me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> forget the -tumbles and the briers, and to drown out the Bryce.</p> - -<p>After I had hunted for years and years to find an explorer-poet who -would take a long walk with me, and had scared every one off by the -elaborateness of the proposal, the first troubadour that took me up on -it almost broke my neck. It was a grand and awful time. The sensible -reviews of Graham’s book have been by Walter Prichard Eaton. He does not -discuss Graham’s opinions or mine. But he is very plain about the fact -that we almost slid into eternity. He has tried those mountains himself, -and he knows. He should write several more reviews.</p> - -<p>Stephen Graham is a lifetime friend, and I have assembled these drawings -as a sign thereof. But because I have been studying Hieroglyphics in the -Metropolitan Museum all this summer, and because United States -Hieroglyphics of my own invention are haunting me day and night, this -book is drawn, and not written. I serve notice on the critics—the -verses are most incidental, merely to explain the pictures. And so, -directly considered, it is much more a reply to Vernon Hill, the artist, -than to Stephen.</p> - -<p>The artist of the Arcadian Calendar discerned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> rightly. Graham and I -were in Arcady, even if it was a bit rough.</p> - -<p>Going-To-The-Sun Mountain is the very jewel of the mountains of Glacier -Park. All the tourists love it, and they are right. Its name fits it.</p> - -<p>Going-To-The-Sun Mountain is our American Fujiyama, as all testify who -have seen it.</p> - -<p>Obviously, an ingredient of good tea is talk on Egyptian Hieroglyphics. -I had an invisible copy of an Egyptian Grammar with me and I put a leaf -from it into every pot of tea. Graham did not take to the taste of it as -much as he did to the pages of Bryce, but he was nobly patient, as one -may say, with Egypt.</p> - -<p>The Hieroglyphics in this work are based on two more British-Egyptian -grammars he sent me after he reached London. Still, they may be -described as United States Hieroglyphics, and almost any Egyptologist -will be willing to describe them that way, having about as much to do -with Egypt as Egyptian cigarettes. The Egyptians were, briefly, a nation -of Vernon Hills, who drew their “Arcadian Calendar” for four thousand -years in red and black ink, or cut it in granite. <i>I keep thinking about -them!</i> A free translation of the hi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span>eroglyphic inscription at the bottom -of the first picture following is:</p> - -<div class="bbox2"> -<p class="nind"> -<i>The beating heart of the waterfall of the<br /> -double truth, as it appears to a scribe,<br /> -a servant of Thoth—Thoth, who is god of<br /> -picture-writing, photoplays and hieroglyphics,<br /> -and an intense admirer of waterfalls.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<p>With this start, the reader can go straight through the book without a -mistake.</p> - -<p>Now, a last word as to the seal, <i>The Elements of Good Tea</i>.</p> - -<p>On the southern side of the Canadian-United States boundary, just as we -reached it, our coffee gave out. Most symbolical happening! There in the -deep woods, as we passed to the northern side, Graham said with a sigh -of insatiable anticipation: “Now we will have some tea.” We had had tea -all along, alternated with coffee. But now Stephen, on his own heath, -was emphatic about it. So he made tea, a whole potful, with a kick like -a battering ram, and I drank my half.</p> - -<p>Certainly the most worth-while thing in Stephen’s book, and mine, is a -matter known to all men long before the books were written. That is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> -that a Britisher and a United Stateser can cross the Canadian-American -line together and discover that it is hardly there; can discover that an -international boundary can be genuine and eternal and yet friendly. If -there is one thing on which Stephen and I will agree till the Judgment -Day, it is that all the boundaries in the world should be as open, and -as happy, as the Canadian-United States line. To many diplomats such a -boundary is incredible, and yet it exists, one of the longest in the -world.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Vachel Lindsay</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="WE_START_WEST_FOR_THE_WATERFALLS" id="WE_START_WEST_FOR_THE_WATERFALLS"></a>WE START WEST FOR THE WATERFALLS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tricking us, making our hearts their prey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dreams of the dreams, with books of the dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunt the homes of the town this day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The visions of rivers, with rhymes of the waterfalls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunt the yards of the town this day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fairies of the fairies, with the flowers of the fairies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunt the factories of the town this day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we throw them kisses, and they fly away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tricking us, making our hearts their prey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The angels of the angels, with the flags of the angels,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunt the clouds above the town this day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we throw them kisses and they fly away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they call us west to the glacial mountains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the mines that are books, to the natural fountains.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_009.png"> -<img src="images/i_009.png" width="596" height="942" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="GOING-TO-THE-SUN" id="GOING-TO-THE-SUN"></a>GOING-TO-THE-SUN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The mountain peak called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Glacier Park,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is the most gorgeous one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the sun comes down to it, it glows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With emerald and rose.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_011.png"> -<img src="images/i_011.png" width="466" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_011.png"> -<img src="images/i_011.png" width="466" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_MYSTIC_ROOSTER_OF_THE_MONTANA_SUNRISE" id="THE_MYSTIC_ROOSTER_OF_THE_MONTANA_SUNRISE"></a>THE MYSTIC ROOSTER OF THE MONTANA SUNRISE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw the rooster that no storm can tame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The center of the sun was but his eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His comb was but the sun rays and the flame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There in the Glacier Park, above white glaciers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, above Montana and the west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He crowed and called his boast around the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Emotion shook his red embroidered vest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is humor in the very biggest rooster,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But even more magnificence than fun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I laugh because he acted like a rooster,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am solemn, for he was the biggest one.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I like a rooster or a turkey gobbler,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I like their forthright impudence at times.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They are neither larks, nor trilling nightingales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet they always sing in splendid rhymes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I heard the vast bird of the sunrise crying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world held not one inch of silly prose.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Any rooster is a flowerlike fowl,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this one was a crimson Yankee rose.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_013.png"> -<img src="images/i_013.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_BIRD_CALLED_CURIOSITY" id="THE_BIRD_CALLED_CURIOSITY"></a>THE BIRD CALLED “CURIOSITY”</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Round the mountain peak called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Glacier Park, a steep and soaring one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Circled a curious bird with pointed nose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who led us on to every cave, and rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swept through every cloud, then brought us berries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the acid gifts the mountain carries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And let us guess which ones were good to eat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And even when we slept his sharp wings beat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The weary fire, or shook the tree-top cones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or rattled dead twigs like a fairy’s bones.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vulgar bird, “Curiosity”! When we<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were tired, and lean, and shaking at the knee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We put this bird in harness. He was strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As any ostrich, pulled our packs along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Helped us up over the next annoying wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dragged us to the chalet, and the tourists’ resting hall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when once more we were young, well-fed men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He beat the door to call us forth again.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_015.png"> -<img src="images/i_015.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_THISTLEVINE" id="THE_THISTLEVINE"></a>THE THISTLEVINE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Thistlevine saw the butterflies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Disappear through the morning skies.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_017.png"> -<img src="images/i_017.png" width="467" height="401" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="AND_THEY_LAUGHED" id="AND_THEY_LAUGHED"></a>AND THEY LAUGHED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dizzy mountain, where paths twist round and round<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And nothing in sober order can be found—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I asked the poppies: “What fairies do you see?”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they shook their long stems, and they laughed at me.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_019.png"> -<img src="images/i_019.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_FAIRY_CIRCUS" id="THE_FAIRY_CIRCUS"></a>THE FAIRY CIRCUS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A fairy ran a circus<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a pigeon puffed and proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A humble bullfrog<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a rather solid cloud.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She wore her underwear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rest wore what they had,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The frog wore a blue coat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just like his dad.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The pigeon wore his feathers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And spread himself—O My!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cloud wore sunshine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He gathered in the sky.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_021.png"> -<img src="images/i_021.png" width="557" height="614" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_BATTLE-AX_OF_THE_SUN" id="THE_BATTLE-AX_OF_THE_SUN"></a>THE BATTLE-AX OF THE SUN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak I reached the drift<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I took it for a Christmas gift,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I made ten soldiers out of snow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the battle-ax of my fairy foe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cut to the ground my men of snow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And who was he, my fairy foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who brought my snowy army low?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The mountain sun was my fairy foe.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_023.png"> -<img src="images/i_023.png" width="410" height="563" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_CHRISTMAS_TREES" id="THE_CHRISTMAS_TREES"></a>THE CHRISTMAS TREES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the high slope of Going-To-The-Sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is a stormy Christmas, all year round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And snow-filled Christmas trees abound.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_025.png"> -<img src="images/i_025.png" width="470" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_PHEASANT_SPEAKS_OF_HIS_BIRTHDAYS" id="THE_PHEASANT_SPEAKS_OF_HIS_BIRTHDAYS"></a>THE PHEASANT SPEAKS OF HIS BIRTHDAYS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up the good slope of Going-To-The-Sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw the Pheasant-Of-The-Sunrise fly.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Jewels in his feathers, mixed with dew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dew and jewels made his jeweled eye.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He paused to make a sonnet, which he sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though nowhere else are pheasants sonneteers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He emphasized with swooping and with skipping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With winkings and intoxicated leers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And how the bushes twinkled as he caroled:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Each morning is another birthday, friend.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I have lived so many happy birthdays!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There are gifts with all the suns that here ascend!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each bush, you see, has an unextinguished candle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And angel-food, and icing, and candy flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this long vine that climbs from earth to heaven<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gives me thoughts, and most erratic powers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I eat its scarlet berries and its frosting.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I choose, it is my present every day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then I can fly straight up to heaven’s doorstep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Following the green line all the way.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_027.png"> -<img src="images/i_027.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And then I tumble like a limber leaf<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To my nest here, and another year is done<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or another thousand years, what does it matter<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak called ‘Going-To-The-Sun’?”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_MYSTIC_UNICORN_OF_THE_MONTANA_SUNSET" id="THE_MYSTIC_UNICORN_OF_THE_MONTANA_SUNSET"></a>THE MYSTIC UNICORN OF THE MONTANA SUNSET</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw the Unicorn-No-Storm-Can-Tame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The center of the sun was but his eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His mane was but the sun rays and the flame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There in that Glacier Park, above green pastures,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There above Stephen’s camp fire in the rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He foamed and pawed and whinnied round the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His feathered sides and plumes and bristling locks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seemed but the banners of a great announcement<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That unicorns were spry as heretofore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That not a camp fire of the world was dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That dragons lived in them, and thousands more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Camp-born, were clawing at the clouds of Asia,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were rising with to-morrow’s dawn for men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Camp-fire dragons, with the ancient unicorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bringing the Rosicrucian days again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Any unicorn can drive away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Any thoughts the grown-up race has spoiled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I heard the Unicorn-of-Sunset ramping<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New fancies in my veins bubbled and boiled.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_031.png"> -<img src="images/i_031.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Any unicorn is worth his oats,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so we fed him bacon, and we made<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An extra cup of tea, which he drank.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then he curled up coltwise, and in slumber sank.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dragons sprang up, next day, where he had stayed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They were in Fujiyama silks arrayed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or spoke of Everest to Stephen. Then began<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Discussing the strange peak in Darien<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That poets climb to see the Pacific well.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How Stephen climbed it later, I will let him tell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Following the Unicorn-No-Storm-Can-Tame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone, in tropic woods, is a great game.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="JOHNNY_APPLESEED_STILL_FURTHER_WEST" id="JOHNNY_APPLESEED_STILL_FURTHER_WEST"></a>JOHNNY APPLESEED STILL FURTHER WEST</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw old Johnny Appleseed once more.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He ate an apple, threw away the core.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then turned and smiled and slackly watched it fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into a crevice of the mountain wall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In an instant there was an apple tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The roots split up the rocks beneath our feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And apples rolled down the green mountainside<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fairies popped from them, flying and free!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_035.png"> -<img src="images/i_035.png" width="476" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind"> -And<br /> -Fairies<br /> -Came from them.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_037.png"> -<img src="images/i_037.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_APPLE-BARREL_OF_JOHNNY_APPLESEED" id="THE_APPLE-BARREL_OF_JOHNNY_APPLESEED"></a>THE APPLE-BARREL OF JOHNNY APPLESEED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw gray Johnny Appleseed at prayer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just as the sunset made the old earth fair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then darkness came; in an instant, like great smoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun fell down as though its great hoops broke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dark rich apples, poured from the dim flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the sun set, came rolling toward the peak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A storm of fruit, a mighty cider-reek,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The perfume of the orchards of the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From apple-shadows: red and russet domes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That turned to clouds of glory and strange homes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the mountain tops for cloud-born souls:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reproofs for men who build the world like moles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Models for men, if they would build the world<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Johnny Appleseed would have it done—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Praying, and reading the books of Swedenborg<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the mountain top called “Going-To-The-Sun.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_039.png"> -<img src="images/i_039.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_COMET_OF_GOING-TO-THE-SUN" id="THE_COMET_OF_GOING-TO-THE-SUN"></a>THE COMET OF GOING-TO-THE-SUN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A comet stopped to drink from a cool spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like a spirit-harp began to sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To us, then hurried on to reach the sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We called him “Homer’s soul,” and “Milton’s wing.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The harp-sound stayed, though he went up and on.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It turned to thunder, when he had quite gone—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet was like a soft voice of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every whispering root and every blade of grass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every tree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the whole world, and brought thoughts of old songs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That blind men sang ten thousand years ago,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the springtime hearts of every nation know.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_041.png"> -<img src="images/i_041.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_BOAT_WITH_THE_KITE_STRING_AND_THE_CELESTIAL_EYES" id="THE_BOAT_WITH_THE_KITE_STRING_AND_THE_CELESTIAL_EYES"></a>THE BOAT WITH THE KITE STRING AND THE CELESTIAL EYES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I sat alone; while Stephen explored higher,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I dragged in sticks and logs and kept our fire.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On soft-winged sails of meditation<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My boat of spiral shells and flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fluffy clouds and twinkling hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My thought-boat went with the sun all day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the glaciers, far away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I sat alone, but the chipmunks knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My boat was high, and plain to view.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I flew my ship like a kite. The thread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was a cobweb silk, fine and thin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That came from out the palm of my hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There I saw the ship begin.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the gypsy’s life line thence it came<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A feather of mist that flew to the dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I felt the spool in my wrist unwind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I saw the feather on heaven’s lawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now a glimmering ship like a lark awake.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the kite string sang, but did not break.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_043.png"> -<img src="images/i_043.png" width="536" height="511" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It stretched like the string of a violin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Played by invisible tides and waves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It sang of Springfield yet to be.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It sang of the dead hours in their graves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And of the United States to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And of all the map stretched out below.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my kite had pansy eyes in its wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I saw the states in their bloom and glow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet a child’s block-map, and nothing more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flat patterns on a playroom floor.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Texas the fort, by the river to the south,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Michigan a pheasant with a leaf in its mouth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Illinois an ear of corn, in the shock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maine a moose-horn, gray as a rock.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">California a whale, in gilded mail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Montana, a ranch of alfalfa and clover,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Montana with its mountain called “Going-To-The-Sun,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An outdoor temple for the singer and the rover,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wyoming a range for a summer lark,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sparkling trails, and its Yellowstone Park,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Colorado an Indian tent for the world,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the smokes of care-free camps are curled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arizona a mission in the desert for all time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the nerves find peace, and thoughts find rhyme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New Mexico a clay pueblo full of dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eldorado in its valleys, ghosts by its streams.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Utah a throne for a grandeur unknown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For haughty hearts, with ways of their own.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nevada the cabin of Mark Twain in his youth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where he mined in the cañons, where he dug for the truth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Washington a western soldier’s tent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Idaho a chair for a president,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">North and South Dakota, one buffalo hide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oregon a lumber mill on a mountain side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nebraska, Oklahoma, cowboy pistols pointing west<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kansas a wheat field where I, once, was a guest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Iowa a corn pone sizzling hot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Minnesota a farmer’s coffee-pot.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arkansas a steamboat at Mark Twain’s door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Missouri Mark Twain’s raft on the shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Louisiana a cavalier’s boot, just the thing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When we wade toward the mouth of the delta in the spring.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mississippi a cotton scales,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alabama many cotton bales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Georgia a peach-basket red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Florida a wild turkey’s head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">North Carolina a crane, flying through a cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">South Carolina a soldier, with head unbowed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">West Virginia, the raccoon, shrewd and slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tennessee Bob Taylor’s fiddle and bow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Virginia Thomas Jefferson’s mountain and shroud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kentucky the log cradle of the proud.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maryland a plow, Delaware a pruning hook,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Indiana Riley’s Hoosier book,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wisconsin a caldron, cool it who can,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ohio Johnny Appleseed’s park for man.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vermont a poet’s house, with waterfall and fern,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Frost writes songs that the world will learn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">New Jersey the doorstep of the nation,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pennsylvania the front room of the nation,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where once Penn welcomed all creation<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And let them sleep on the grassy floor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And let them eat the wild berries and explore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rhode Island, Roger Williams’ holy place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Connecticut, an arbor of innocence and grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Filled with flowers, and souls like lace,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Especially one little girl six years young<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who tells me stories in the fairy tongue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">New Hampshire the mast of the Mayflower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Massachusetts the prow of the Mayflower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Most famous ark forevermore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The whole map a temple, if we patiently read,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the statue of Liberty in majesty to plead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Arcady to come once more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with New York on guard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New York a sentinel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New York a lion by the door.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By my camp fire I grew older,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There were chipmunks on my shoulder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While I saw the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the eyes of my boat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As one land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Asia and Alaska by the ice bound as one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Aurora Borealis was a cross bright as the sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I seemed to live through myriad days.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My eyes looked down like searching rays.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I took my flight over many races,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw, in my thought, all human faces.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my spirit had its fill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the thread in my wrist wound in again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cobweb shortened, strand on strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my little ship came back to land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And was only a feather in my hand.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SO_MUCH_THE_WORSE_FOR_BOSTON" id="SO_MUCH_THE_WORSE_FOR_BOSTON"></a>SO MUCH THE WORSE FOR BOSTON</h2> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>Some words about singing this song,<br /> -Are written this border along.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I read the aspens like a book, and every leaf was signed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I climbed above the aspen-grove to read what I could find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Mount Clinton, Colorado, I met a mountain-cat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will call him “Andrew Jackson,” and I mean no harm by that.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was growling, and devouring a terrific mountain-rat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when the feast was ended, the mountain-cat was kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And showed a pretty smile, and spoke his mind.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I am dreaming of old Boston,” he said, and wiped his jaws.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_051.png"> -<img src="images/i_051.png" width="404" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I have often HEARD of Boston,” and he folded in his paws,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Boston, Massachusetts, a mountain bold and great.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will tell you all about it, if you care to curl and wait.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>If I cannot sing in the aspens’ tongue,<br /> -If I know not what they say,<br /> -Then I have never gone to school,<br /> -And have wasted all my day.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“In the Boston of my beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers are in bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When storm-lilies and storm-thistles and storm-roses are in bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The faithful cats go creeping through the catnip-ferns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And</i> rainbows, <i>and</i> sunshine, <i>and</i> gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pounce upon the Boston Mice, that tremble underneath the flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pounce upon the big-eared rats, and drag them to the tomb.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we are Tom-policemen, vigilant and sure.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We keep the Back Bay ditches and potato cellars pure.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Apples are not bitten into, cheese is let alone.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_053.png"> -<img src="images/i_053.png" width="542" height="487" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE BOSTON MOUSE WAITS IN TERROR OF THE MOUNTAIN-CAT, UNDER THE SHADOW -OF THE STORM-ROSE</span> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>Come, let us whisper of men and beasts<br /> -And joke as the aspens do,<br /> -And yet be solemn in their way,<br /> -And tell our thoughts<br /> -All summer through,<br /> -In the morning,<br /> -In the frost,<br /> -And in the midnight dew.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet corn is left upon the cob, and the beef left on the bone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Every Sunday morning, the Pilgrims give us codfish balls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because we keep the poisonous rats from the Boston halls.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I have never seen, in the famous Hub, suppression of the rat.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So much the worse for Boston,” said the whiskery mountain-cat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the cat continued his great dream, closing one shrewd eye:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The Tower-of-Babel Cactus blazes above the sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fangs and sabers guard the buds and crimson fruits on high.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet cactus-eating eagles and black hawks hum through the air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the pigeons weep in Copley Square, look up, those wings are there,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_055.png"> -<img src="images/i_055.png" width="400" height="518" alt="[Image -unavailable.]" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE TOWER-OF-BABEL CACTUS<br /> BLAZES ABOVE THE SKY</span> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>The mountain-cat seems violent,<br /> -And of no good intent.<br /> -Yet read his words so gently<br /> -No bird will leave its tree,<br /> -No child will hate the simper or the noise<br /> -And hurry away from you and me.<br /> -Read like a meditative, catlike willow-tree.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>Some words about singing this song,<br /> -Are scattered this border along.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Proud Yankee birds of prey, overshadowing the land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Screaming to younger Yankees of the self-same brand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose talk is like the American flag, snapping on the summit-pole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sky-rocket and star-spangled words, round sunflower words, they use them whole.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There are no tailors in command, men seem like trees in honest leaves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their clothes are but their bark and hide, and sod and binding for their sheaves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men are as the shocks of corn, as natural as alfalfa fields.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no one yields to purse or badge; only to sweating manhood yields,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To natural authority, to wisdom straight from the new sun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who is the bull-god of the herd? The strongest and the shaggiest one.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or if they preen at all, they preen with Walter Raleigh’s gracious pride:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The forest-ranger! One grand show! With gun and spade slung at his side!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up on the dizzy timber-line, arbiter of life and fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where sacred frost shines all the year, and freezing bee and mossflower mate.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>Read like the Mariposa with the stately stem,<br /> -With green jade leaves like ripples and like waves,<br /> -And white jade petals,<br /> -Smooth as foam can be—<br /> -The Mariposa lily, that is leaning upon the young stream’s hem,<br /> -Speaking grandly to that larger flower<br /> -That grows down toward the sea, hour after hour<br /> -Hunting for the Pacific storms and caves.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Boston is tough country, and the ranger rides with death,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plunges to stop the forest fire against the black smoke’s breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Buries the cattle killed by eating larkspur lush and blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shoots the calf-thieves, lumber-thieves, and gets train-robbers too.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>Some words about singing this song,<br /> -Are scattered this border along.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Governor and Sheriff obey his ordering hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Following his ostrich plume across the amber sand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“But often, for lone days he goes, exploring cliffs afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chants his King James’ Bible to tarantula and star.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear him read Egyptian tales, as he rides by in the dawn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am sometimes an Egyptian cat. My crudities are gone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He spells, in Greek, that Homer, as he hurries on alone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear him scan at Virgil, as I hide behind a stone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“He had kept me fond of Hawthorne, and Thoreau, cold and wise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The silvery waves of Walden Pond, gleam in a bobcat’s eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He has taught us grateful beasts to sing, like Orpheus of old.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Boston forest ranger brings back the Age of Gold.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_059.png"> -<img src="images/i_059.png" width="387" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -<br /> -<span class="caption">A BACK-BAY WHALE</span> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I have never heard, in the cultured Hub, of rowdy men like that.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So much the worse for Boston,” said the Rocky Mountain cat.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><p class="nind"> -<i>Sing like the Mariposa to the stream that seeks the sea,<br /> -Speak like that flower,<br /> -With still,<br /> -Olympian jest,<br /> -And cuplike word<br /> -Filling the hour.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the cat purred on, in his great dream, as one who seeks the noblest ends:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Higher than the Back Bay whales, that spout and leap, and bite their friends,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Higher than those Moby-Dicks, the Boston Lover’s trail ascends.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Higher than the Methodist, or Unitarian spire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the range of any fence of bowlder or barbed wire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Telling to each other what the Boston Boys have done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lodge-pole pines go towering to the timber-line and sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And their whisper stirs love’s fury in each pantherish girl-child,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till she dresses like a columbine, or a bleeding heart gone wild.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a harebell, golden aster, bluebell, Indian arrow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blue jay, squirrel, meadow lark, loco, mountain sparrow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mayflower, sagebrush, dying swan, they court in disarray.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The masquerade, in Love’s hot name, is like a forest-play.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she is held in worship who adores the noblest boys.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So miner-lovers bring her new amazing pets and toys.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mewing, prowling hunters bring her grizzlies in chains.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ranchers bring red apples through the silver rains.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the mountain of my beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are in bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Boston of my beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are in bloom.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There are just such naked waterfalls, as are roaring there below.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the springs of Boston Common are from priceless summer snow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Serene the wind-cleared Boston peaks, and there white rabbits run<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like funny giant snowflakes, hopping in the sun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ptarmigan will leap and fly and clutter through the drift<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the baby ptarmigans ‘peep, peep,’ when the weasel eyelids lift.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the pools are still and deep, dwarf willows see themselves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Boston Mariposas bend, like mirror-kissing elves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">White is the gypsum cliff, and white the snowbird’s warm, deep-feathered home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">White are the cottonwood and birch, white is the fountain-foam.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“In the waterfalls from the sunburnt cliffs, the bold nymphs leap and shriek<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wrath of the water makes them fight, its kisses make them weak.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With shoulders hot with sunburn, with bodies rose and white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And streaming curls like sunrise rays, or curls like flags of night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flowing to their dancing feet, circling them in storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And their adorers glory in each lean, Ionic form.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, the hearts of women, then set free. They live the life of old<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That chickadees and bobcats sing, the famous Age of Gold....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They sleep and star-gaze on the grass, their red-ore camp fires shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like heaps of unset rubies spilled on velvet superfine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And love of man and maid is when the granite weds the snow-white stream.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ranch house bursts with babies. In the wood-lot deep eyes gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Buffalo children, barking wolves, fuming cinnamon bears.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Human mustangs kick the paint from the breakfast-table chairs.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I have never heard, in the modest Hub, of a stock ill-bred as that.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So much the worse for Boston,” said the lecherous mountain-cat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the cat continued with the dream, as the snow blew round in drifts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The caves beneath the craggy sides of Boston hold tremendous gifts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For many youths that enter there, and lift up every stone that lifts.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They wander in, and wander on, finding all new things they can,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some forms of jade or chrysoprase, more rare than radium for man.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the burro trains, to fetch the loot, are jolly fool parades.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The burros flap their ears and bray, and take the steepest grades.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or loaded with long mining-drills, and railroad rails, and boards for flumes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up Beacon Hill with fossil bats, swine bones from geologic tombs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or loaded with cliff-mummies of lost dwellers of the land.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Explorers’ yells and bridle bells sound above the sand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“In the desert of my beauty-sleep, when rainflowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will not bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the Boston of my beauty-sleep, when storms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will not bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_065.png"> -<img src="images/i_065.png" height="566" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -<br /> -<span class="caption">THE BAT</span> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By Bunker Hill’s tall obelisk, till the August sun awakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I brood and stalk blue shadows, and my mad heart breaks.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thoughts of a hunt unutterable ring the obelisk around.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a thousand glorious sphinxes spring, singing, from the ground.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Very white young Salem witches ride them down the west.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gravel makes a flat, lone track, the eye has endless rest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fair girls and beasts charge, dreaming, through the salt-sand white as snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hunting the three-toed pony, while mysterious slaughters flow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bat from the salt desert sucks the clouds on high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until they fall in ashes, and all the sky is dry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, the empty Spanish Missions, where the bells ring without hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As we drive the shadowy dinosaurs and mammoths through the sand.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I have never seen, in the sun-kissed Hub, circuses like that.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So much the worse for you, my cub,” said the slant-eyed mountain-cat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the cat continued with his yarn, while I stood there marveling:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I here proclaim that I am not a vague, an abstract thing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I like to eat the turkey-leg, the lamb, the chickenwing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet the cat that knows not fasting, the cat that knows not dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That has not drunk dim mammoth-blood from the long-dead desert stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That has not rolled in the alkali-encrusted pits of bones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the saber-toothed white tiger’s cave, where he kicked the ancient stones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has not known sacred Boston. Our gods are burning ore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our Colorado gods are the stars of heaven’s floor.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the god of Massachusetts is a Tiger they adore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“From that saber-tooth’s ghost-purring goes the whispered word of power<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the sunset, in the moonlight, in the purple sunrise hour:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That an Indian chief is born, in a teepee, to the west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That a school of rattlesnakes is rattling, on the mountain’s breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That an opal has been grubbed from the ground by a mole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That a bumble-bee has found a new way to save his soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Egyptian granite Boston, the rumor has gone round<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That new ways to tame the whirlwind have been marvelously found.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That a Balanced Rock has fallen, that a battle has been won<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the soul of some young touch-me-not, some tigerish Emerson.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Boston people do not read their Emerson like that.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So much the worse for Boston,” said the self-reliant cat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then I saw the cat there towering, like a cat cut from a hill:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A prophet-beast of Nature’s law, staring with stony will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pacing on the icy top, then stretched in drowsy thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, listening, on tiptoe, to the voice the snowwind brought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tearing at the fire-killed pine trees, kittenish again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then speaking like a lion, long made president of men:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“There are such holy plains and streams, there are such sky-arched spaces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There are life-long trails for private lives, and endless whispering places.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Range is so wide there is not room for lust and poison breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And flesh may walk in Eden, forgetting shame and death.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then I contradicted him, in a manner firm and flat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I have never heard, in Boston, of anything like that.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<i>Boston is peculiar.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Boston is mysterious.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>You do not know your Boston</i>,” said the wise, fastidious cat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And turned again to lick the skull of his prey, the mountain-rat!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And at that, he broke off his wild dream of a perfect human race.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I walked down to the aspen grove where is neither time nor place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor measurement, nor space, except that grass has room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And aspen leaves whisper on forever in their grace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All day they watch along the banks. All night the perfume goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the Mariposa’s chalice to the marble mountain-rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the Boston of their beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are in bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the mystery of their beauty-sleep, when storm-flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are in bloom.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_071.png"> -<img src="images/i_071.png" width="503" height="420" alt="[Image -unavailable.]" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">ROCKETS ON THE WAY TO SATURN</span> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_ROCKETS_THAT_REACHED_SATURN" id="THE_ROCKETS_THAT_REACHED_SATURN"></a>THE ROCKETS THAT REACHED SATURN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the Fourth of July sky rockets went up<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the church and the trees and the town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stripes and stars, riding red cars.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each rocket wore a red-white-and-blue gown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I did not see one rocket come down.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Next day on the hill I found dead sticks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scorched like blown-out candle-wicks.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But where are the rockets? Up in the sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As for the sticks, let them lie.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dead sticks are not the Fourth of July.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In Saturn they grow like wonderful weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In some ways like weeds of ours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Twisted and beautiful, straight and awry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But nodding all day to the heavenly powers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stalks are smoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the blossoms green light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crystalline fireworks flowers.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_073.png"> -<img src="images/i_073.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -<br /> -<span class="caption">ROCKETS IN SATURN</span> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="MEDITATION" id="MEDITATION"></a>MEDITATION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A spirit in soft slippers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Walked the Gulf Stream floor.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She opened many a cabin door<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of ships a long time underseas.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She read long-rest Egyptian books<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And looked upon skull-faces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And read their restless looks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shining through the shadows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of phosphorescent streaming waves,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Impatient for the Judgment horn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lift them from their purple graves.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_075.png"> -<img src="images/i_075.png" width="544" height="485" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_TRAVELER" id="THE_TRAVELER"></a>THE TRAVELER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Moon’s a devil-jester<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who makes himself too free.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rascal is not always<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where he appears to be:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sometimes he is in my heart—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sometimes in the sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then tides are in my heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And tides are in the sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O traveler! abiding not<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where he pretends to be!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_077.png"> -<img src="images/i_077.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="ELIZABETH_BARRETT_BROWNING" id="ELIZABETH_BARRETT_BROWNING"></a>ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sat gossiping with Robert.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(She was really a raving beauty in her day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Mary Pickford curls in clouds and whirls.)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She was trying to think of something nice to say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So she pointed to a page by her fellow star and sage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And said: “I wish that <i>I</i> could write that way!”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_079.png"> -<img src="images/i_079.png" height="577" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="SOME_BALLOONS_GROW_ON_TREES" id="SOME_BALLOONS_GROW_ON_TREES"></a>SOME BALLOONS GROW ON TREES<br /><br /> -<small><span class="smcap">For Betsy Richards</span></small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some balloons grow on trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On rubber trees, indeed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You plant old rubber-boots for seed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some balloons grow on trees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you want them red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You pour red ink into the boots,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There in the balloon bed,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And blue ink if you want them blue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But if you desire them green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just let it pass.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They will turn green to match the grass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some balloons grow on trees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if you do not spray them soon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With water-pots of hellebore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You will not have<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One ripe balloon.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mosquitoes will bite them in the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Explode them like a thunder-storm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And give the town a fright.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_081.png"> -<img src="images/i_081.png" width="411" height="564" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some balloons grow on trees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If they grow too fast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And are not gathered every day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The infants stand aghast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see them tear up by the roots<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The trees on which they grew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And scatter dirt on the front walk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And disappear from view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the blue.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="BABYLONS_GARDENS_ARE_BURNING" id="BABYLONS_GARDENS_ARE_BURNING"></a>BABYLON’S GARDENS ARE BURNING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There, on the shores of the river Euphrates,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Babylon’s gardens are burning this morning.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prophets warned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prophets prophesied,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But no one in Babylon heeded the warning.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_085.png"> -<img src="images/i_085.png" width="469" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="IN_THE_BEAUTY_PARLORS" id="IN_THE_BEAUTY_PARLORS"></a>IN THE BEAUTY PARLORS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A jumbo so vain, and fond of his shape<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had himself beautified by a gray ape,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tattooed and gilded with elegant signs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The latest and merriest monkey designs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then the ape rode the jumbo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And made the land gape,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he sat at his ease in the elephant chair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had tattooed himself with designs from a shawl,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he gathered a grape with a self-possessed air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And threw down a twig at another fine ape.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_087.png"> -<img src="images/i_087.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_POLITICAL_CAMPAIGN" id="A_POLITICAL_CAMPAIGN"></a>A POLITICAL CAMPAIGN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A duck within the harem of a drake who ran for president<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swam in his parade, and made it an event.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She carried a big card of his footprints and she said:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“He waddles like an arrow, straight ahead.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_089.png"> -<img src="images/i_089.png" width="535" height="466" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="OLD_JUDGE_HOOT_OWL" id="OLD_JUDGE_HOOT_OWL"></a>OLD JUDGE HOOT OWL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Old Judge Hoot Owl sits by his inkwell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Writing wills for the wealthy and swell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He knows something he won’t tell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Three little house flies, drowned in his inkwell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Three little scandals in a peanut shell.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_091.png"> -<img src="images/i_091.png" width="549" height="498" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="PEARLS" id="PEARLS"></a>PEARLS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now she was fond of jewelry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Lady-of-Fiddle-Dee-Dee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So she built her house<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Near an oyster bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the pearls were almost free.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_093.png"> -<img src="images/i_093.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_LAND_HORSE_AND_THE_SEA_HORSE" id="THE_LAND_HORSE_AND_THE_SEA_HORSE"></a>THE LAND HORSE AND THE SEA HORSE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Land Horse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Everybody rides,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until his eyes are dim.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_095.png"> -<img src="images/i_095.png" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Sea Horse!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Every wave he rides.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And nobody<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rides him.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_097.png"> -<img src="images/i_097.png" width="467" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONCERNING_THE_MOUSE_WITH_TWO_TAILS" id="CONCERNING_THE_MOUSE_WITH_TWO_TAILS"></a>CONCERNING THE MOUSE WITH TWO TAILS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The cat was astonished<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see the mouse stand there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waving two tails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a confident air.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_099.png"> -<img src="images/i_099.png" width="528" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="WORDS_ABOUT_AN_ANCIENT_QUEEN" id="WORDS_ABOUT_AN_ANCIENT_QUEEN"></a>WORDS ABOUT AN ANCIENT QUEEN<br /><br /> -<small><span class="smcap">Inscribed with Apologies to Lytton Strachey</span></small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Queen Hat-shep-sut, pious and fat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wore a hair net under her hat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Queen Hat-shep-sut, restrained and refined<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wore a hair net over her mind.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/i_101.png"> -<img src="images/i_101.png" width="547" height="395" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Going-to-the-Sun, by Vachel Lindsay - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOING-TO-THE-SUN *** - -***** This file should be named 63554-h.htm or 63554-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/5/63554/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - 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