Poem by Vachel Lindsay

Who Knows?

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?

1. The Merciful Hand
2. To Gloriana
3. Yet Gentle Will the Griffin Be
4. To Buddha
5. The Black Hawk War of the Artists

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