Within the town of Buffalo Are prosy men with leaden eyes. Like ants they worry to and fro, (Important men, in Buffalo.) But only twenty miles away

Ah, she was music in herself, A symphony of joyousness. She sang, she sang from finger tip… From every tremble of her dress. I saw sweet haunting harmony,

“If I could set the moon upon This table,” said my friend, “Among the standard poets And brouchures without end, And noble prints of old Japan,

Even the shrewd and bitter, Gnarled by the old world’s greed, Cherished the stranger softly Seeing his utter need. Shelter and patient hearing,

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 y…

(What Grandpa told the Childre… The moon? It is a griffin’s egg, Hatching to-morrow night. And how the little boys will watch With shouting and delight

Romance was always young. You come today Just eight years old With marvellous dark hair. Younger than Dante found you

An old actor at the Player’s Club told me that Edwin Booth first impersonated Hamlet when a barnstormer in California. There were few theatres, but the hotels were provided with crud...

Think not that incense-smoke has h… My friends, the incense-time has b… Creed upon creed, cult upon cult s… Shrine after shrine grow gray bene… And mountain-boulders in our aged…

The flower-fed buffaloes of the sp… In the days of long ago, Ranged where the locomotives sing And the prarie flowers lie low: The tossing, blooming, perfumed gr…

Oh, once I walked in Heaven, all… Upon the sacred cliffs above the s… God and the angels, and the gleami… Had journeyed out into the stars t… They had gone forth to win far cit…

(To Edgar Lee Masters, with g… Here upon the prarie Is our ancestral hall. Agate is the dome, Cornelian the wall.

In this, the City of my Disconten… Sometimes there comes a whisper fr… “Romance, Romance—is here. No Hi… Is quite so strange. No Citadel o… By Sinbad found, held half such l…

[A Poem for Aviators] How the Wings Were Made From many morning-glories That in an hour will fade, From many pansy buds

(Note:—Pocahontas is buried at… “Pocahontas’ body, lovely as a pop… CARL SANDBURG. Powhatan was conqueror, Powhatan was emperor.