Poem by Vachel Lindsay

Drying Their Wings

 What the Carpenter Said

THE moon's a cottage with a door.
Some folks can see it plain.
Look, you may catch a glint of light,
A sparkle through the pane,
Showing the place is brighter still
Within, though bright without.
There, at a cosy open fire
Strange babes are grouped about.
The children of the wind and tide--
The urchins of the sky,
Drying their wings from storms and things
So they again can fly. 

1. The Illinois Village
2. The Alchemist’s Petition
3. Sweethearts of the Year
4. To the United States Senate
5. The Hearth Eternal

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