The Chinese Nightingale and Other Poems [0]
The Chinese Nightingale and Other Poems
by Vachel Lindsay
This Book is Dedicated to Sara Teasdale, Poet
Harriet Monroe awarded the Levinson Prize to "The Chinese Nightingale",
as the best contribution to "Poetry: A Magazine of Verse",
for the year 1915.
Table of Contents
First Section
The Chinese Nightingale
Second Section
America Watching the War, August, 1914, to April, 1917
Where Is the Real Non-resistant?
Here's to the Mice!
When Bryan Speaks
To Jane Addams at the Hague
I. Speak Now for Peace
II. Tolstoi Is Plowing Yet
The Tale of the Tiger Tree
The Merciful Hand
Third Section
America at War with Germany, Beginning April, 1917
Our Mother Pocahontas
Concerning Emperors
Niagara
Mark Twain and Joan of Arc
The Bankrupt Peace Maker
"This, My Song, is made for Kerensky"
Fourth Section
Tragedies, Comedies, and Dreams
Our Guardian Angels and Their Children
Epitaphs for Two Players
I. Edwin Booth
II. John Bunny, Motion Picture Comedian
Mae Marsh, Motion Picture Actress
Two Old Crows
The Drunkard's Funeral
The Raft
The Ghosts of the Buffaloes
The Broncho that Would Not Be Broken
The Prairie Battlements
The Flower of Mending
Alone in the Wind, on the Prairie
To Lady Jane
How I Walked Alone in the Jungles of Heaven
Fifth Section
The Poem Games
An Account of the Poem Games
The King of Yellow Butterflies
The Potatoes' Dance
The Booker Washington Trilogy
I. Simon Legree
II. John Brown
III. King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba
How Samson Bore Away the Gates of Gaza
The Chinese Nightingale and Other Poems
First Section
The Chinese Nightingale
A Song in Chinese Tapestries
"How, how," he said. "Friend Chang," I said,
"San Francisco sleeps as the dead --
Ended license, lust and play:
Why do you iron the night away?
Your big clock speaks with a deadly sound,
With a tick and a wail till dawn comes round.
While the monster shadows glower and creep,
What can be better for man than sleep?"
"I will tell you a secret," Chang replied;
"My breast with vision is satisfied,
And I see green trees and fluttering wings,
And my deathless bird from Shanghai sings."
Then he lit five fire-crackers in a pan.
"Pop, pop," said the fire-crackers, "cra-cra-crack."
He lit a joss stick long and black.
Then the proud gray joss in the corner stirred;
On his wrist appeared a gray small bird,
And this was the song of the gray small bird:
"Where is the princess, loved forever,
Who made Chang first of the kings of men?"
And the joss in the corner stirred again;
And the carved dog, curled in his arms, awoke,
Barked forth a smoke-cloud that whirled and broke.
It piled in a maze round the ironing-place,
And there on the snowy table wide
Stood a Chinese lady of high degree,
With a scornful, witching, tea-rose face. . . .
Yet she put away all form and pride,
And laid her glimmering veil aside
With a childlike smile for Chang and for me.
The walls fell back, night was aflower,
The table gleamed in a moonlit bower,
While Chang, with a countenance carved of stone,
Ironed and ironed, all alone.
And thus she sang to the busy man Chang:
"Have you forgotten. . . .
Deep in the ages, long, long ago,
I was your sweetheart, there on the sand --
Storm-worn beach of the Chinese land?
We sold our grain in the peacock town
Built on the edge of the sea-sands brown --
Built on the edge of the sea-sands brown. . . .
"When all the world was drinking blood
From the skulls of men and bulls
And all the world had swords and clubs of stone,
We drank our tea in China beneath the sacred spice-trees,
And heard the curled waves of the harbor moan.
And this gray bird, in Love's first spring,
With a bright-bronze breast and a bronze-brown wing,
Captured the world with his carolling.
Do you remember, ages after,
At last the world we were born to own?
You were the heir of the yellow throne --
The world was the field of the Chinese