English

III. Johnny A PPLESEED'S Old A GE

Long, long after,
When settlers put up beam and rafter,
They asked of the birds: " Who gave this fruit?
Who watched this fence till the seeds took root?
Who gave these boughs? " They asked the sky,
And there was no reply.
But the robin might have said,
" To the farthest West he has followed the sun,
His life and his empire just begun. "
Self-scourged, like a monk, with a throne for wages,
Stripped, like the iron-souled Hindu sages,

II. The I NDIANS W ORSHIP H IM, BUT H E H URRIES O N

Painted kings in the midst of the clearing
Heard him asking his friends the eagles
To guard each planted seed and seedling.
Then he was a god, to the red man's dreaming;
Then the chiefs brought treasures grotesque and fair, —
Magical trinkets and pipes and guns,
Beads and furs from their medicine-lair, —
Stuck holy feathers in his hair.
Hailed him with austere delight.
The orchard god was their guest through the night.

I. Over THE A PPALACHIAN B ARRICADE

In the days of President Washington,
The glory of the nations,
Dust and ashes,
Snow and sleet,
And hay and oats and wheat,
Blew west,
Crossed the Appalachians,
Found the glades of rotting leaves, the soft deer-pastures,
The farms of the far-off future
In the forest.
Colts jumped the fence,
Snorting, ramping, snapping, sniffing,
With gastronomic calculations,
Crossed the Appalachians,
The east walls of our citadel,
And turned to gold-horned unicorns,

II. The I LLINOIS V ILLAGE

O you who lose the art of hope,
Whose temples seem to shrine a lie,
Whose sidewalks are but stones of fear,
Who weep that Liberty must die,
Turn to the little prairie towns,
Your higher hope shall yet begin.
On every side awaits you there
Some gate where glory enters in.
Yet when I see the flocks of girls,
Watching the Sunday train go thro'
(As tho' the whole wide world went by)
With eyes that long to travel too,
I sigh, despite my soul made glad

II

She is madonna in an art
As wild and young as her sweet eyes:
A frail dew flower from this hot lamp
That is today's divine surprise.

Despite raw lights and gloating mobs
She is not seared: a picture still:
Rare silk the fine director's hand
May weave for magic if he will.

When ancient films have crumbled like
Papyrus rolls of Egypt's day,
Let the dust speak: " Her pride was high,
All but the artist hid away:

" Kin to the myriad artist clan

I

The arts are old, old as the stones
From which man carved the sphinx austere.
Deep are the days the old arts bring:
Ten thousand years of yesteryear.

II

Ahasuerus in his prime
Was gracious and voluptuous.
He saw a pale face turn to him,
A gleam of Heaven's righteousness:
A girl with hair of David's gold
And Rachel's face of loveliness.

He dropped his sword, he bowed his head.
She led his steps to courtesy.
He took her for his white north star:
A wedding of true majesty.
Oh, what a war for gentleness
Was in her bridal fantasy!

Why did he fall by candlelight
And press his bull-heart to her feet?

I

He harried lions up the peaks.
In blood and moss and snow they died.
He wore a cloak of lions' manes
To satisfy his curious pride.
Men saw it, trimmed with emerald bands,
Flash on the crested battle-tide.

Where Bagdad stands, he hunted kings,
Burned them alive, his soul to cool.
Yet in his veins god Ormazd wrought
To make a just man of a fool.
He spoke the rigid truth, and rode,
And drew the bow, by Persian rule.

II

The slender maiden found me sleeping,
Stirred my breast by her wings and her singing,
Lifted me to the place of feasting
While the water-falls in the court were ringing.
There we ate of the crust of knowledge,
There we drank of the water of kindness.
The cups were simple, formed of silver,
Vermillion banners waved behind us.

Her eyes were round with noble wonder,

Johnny Appleseed dreamed that because of his monastic self-immolation in the depths of the frontier forest, he would be rewarded in the next life with two very beautiful wives.