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Vachel Lindsay (Вэчел Линдсей)


Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress


I

The arts are old, old as the stones
From which man carved the sphinx austere.
Deep are the days the old arts bring:
Ten thousand years of yesteryear.

II

She is madonna in an art
As wild and young as her sweet eyes:
A frail dew flower from this hot lamp
That is today's divine surprise.

Despite raw lights and gloating mobs
She is not seared: a picture still:
Rare silk the fine director's hand
May weave for magic if he will.

When ancient films have crumbled like
Papyrus rolls of Egypt's day,
Let the dust speak: "Her pride was high,
All but the artist hid away:

"Kin to the myriad artist clan
Since time began, whose work is dear."
The deep new ages come with her,
Tomorrow's years of yesteryear.



Vachel Lindsay's other poems:
  1. With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses
  2. What the Sexton Said
  3. The Leaden-Eyed
  4. The Booker Washington Trilogy
  5. What the Gray-Winged Fairy Said


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