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The Horrid Voice of Science

"There's machinery in the 
      butterfly;
   There's a mainspring to the 
      bee;
There's hydraulics to a daisy,
   And contraptions to a tree.

"If we could see the birdie
      That makes the chirping sound
With x-ray, scientific eyes,
   We could see the wheels go 
   round."

And I hope all men
Who think like this
Will soon lie
Underground.

This poem is in the public domain.

This poem is in the public domain.

Vachel Lindsay

by this poet

poem
(In Springfield, Illinois)
 
It is portentous, and a thing of state   
That here at midnight, in our little town   
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,   
Near the old court-house pacing up and down,   
   
Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
He lingers where his children used to play,   
Or
poem

Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here. . . .
Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns
And the tremendous Amaranth descends
Sweet with the glory of ten thousand dawns?

Does it not mean my God would have me say: —
“Whether you will or no, O city young,
Heaven will bloom like

poem
O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time,
You have no humble hours.
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears,
To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
Like fate's triumphant shears.
Your yellow heads are cut away,
It seems your reign is o'er.
By noon