Who Knows?

Vachel Lindsay

They say one king is mad.  Perhaps.  Who knows?
They say one king is doddering and grey.
They say one king is slack and sick of mind,
A puppet for hid strings that twitch and play.

Is Europe then to be their sprawling-place?
Their mad-house, till it turns the wide world’s bane?
Their place of maudlin, slavering conference
Till every far-off farmstead goes insane?

Next 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : Why I Voted The Socialist Ticket
• Vachel Lindsay : With A Bouquet Of Twelve Roses
• Vachel Lindsay : Written For A Musician
• Vachel Lindsay : Yankee Doodle
• Vachel Lindsay : Yet Gentle Will The Griffin Be
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : A Fragment
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : A Gleam Of Sunshine
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : A Psalm Of Life
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : Aftermath
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : Afternoon In February

Previous 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : Where Is The Real Non-resistant?
• Vachel Lindsay : Where Is David, The Next King Of Israel?
• Vachel Lindsay : When Gassy Thompson Struck It Rich
• Vachel Lindsay : When Bryan Speaks
• Vachel Lindsay : What The Snow Man Said
• Vachel Lindsay : What The Scare-crow Said
• Vachel Lindsay : What The Rattlesnake Said
• Vachel Lindsay : What The Moon Saw
• Vachel Lindsay : What The Miner In The Desert Said
• Vachel Lindsay : What The Hyena Said