Vachel Lindsay (Вэчел Линдсей)

The Cornfields

The cornfields rise above mankind, 
Lifting white torches to the blue, 
Each season not ashamed to be 
Magnificently decked for you. 

What right have you to call them yours, 
And in brute lust of riches burn 
Without some radiant penance wrought, 
Some beautiful, devout return?

1. The Merciful Hand
2. When Gassy Thompson Struck It Rich
3. The King of Yellow Butterflies
4. To Buddha
5. Above the Battle’s Front

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1397

Последние стихотворения

To English version