Written For A Musician

Vachel Lindsay

Hungry for music with a desperate hunger
I prowled abroad, I threaded through the town;
The evening crowd was clamoring and drinking,
Vulgar and pitiful—my heart bowed down—
Till I remembered duller hours made noble
By strangers clad in some surprising grace.
Wait, wait, my soul, your music comes ere midnight
Appearing in some unexpected place
With quivering lips, and gleaming, moonlit face.

Next 10 Poems

• 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
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : An April Day
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : Arrow And The Song, The
• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : Arsenal At Springfield, The

Previous 10 Poems

• Vachel Lindsay : With A Bouquet Of Twelve Roses
• Vachel Lindsay : Why I Voted The Socialist Ticket
• Vachel Lindsay : Who Knows?
• 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