Vachel Lindsay

What the Scare-Crow Said

The dim-winged spirits of the night
Do fear and serve me well.
They creep from out the hedges of
The garden where I dwell.
 
I wave my arms across the walk.
The troops obey the sign,
And bring me shimmering shadow-robes
And cups of cowslip-wine.
 
Then dig a treasure called the moon,
A very precious thing,
And keep it in the air for me
Because I am a King.
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