Lincoln

Vachel Lindsay

Would I might rouse the Lincoln in you all,
That which is gendered in the wilderness
From lonely prairies and God’s tenderness.
Imperial soul, star of a weedy stream,
Born where the ghosts of buffaloes still dream,
Whose spirit hoof-beats storm above his grave,
Above that breast of earth and prairie-fire—
Fire that freed the slave.

Next 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : Look You, I'll Go Pray
• Vachel Lindsay : Love And Law
• Vachel Lindsay : Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress
• Vachel Lindsay : Mark Twain And Joan Of Arc
• Vachel Lindsay : Michelangelo
• Vachel Lindsay : My Lady In Her White Silk Shawl
• Vachel Lindsay : Niagara
• Vachel Lindsay : On Reading Omar Khayyam
• Vachel Lindsay : On Receiving One Of Gloriana's Letters
• Vachel Lindsay : On Suddenly Receiving A Curl Long Refused

Previous 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : King Solomon And The Queen Of Sheba
• Vachel Lindsay : King Arthur's Men Have Come Again
• Vachel Lindsay : John Bunny, Motion Picture Comedian
• Vachel Lindsay : John Brown
• Vachel Lindsay : Incense
• Vachel Lindsay : In Praise Of Songs That Die
• Vachel Lindsay : In Praise Of Gloriana's Remarkable Golden Hair
• Vachel Lindsay : In Memory Of A Child
• Vachel Lindsay : I Went Down Into The Desert
• Vachel Lindsay : I Heard Immanuel Singing