The moon’s a brass-hooped water-keg,
A wondrous water-feast.
If I could climb the ridge and drink
And give drink to my beast;
If I could drain that keg, the flies
Would not be biting so,
My burning feet be spry again,
My mule no longer slow.
And I could rise and dig for ore,
And reach my fatherland,
And not be food for ants and hawks
And perish in the sand.
(Vachel Lindsay)
More Poetry from Vachel Lindsay:
- Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan (Vachel Lindsay Poems)
- An Indian Summer Day on the Prairie (Vachel Lindsay Poems)
- A Colloquial Reply: To Any Newsboy (Vachel Lindsay Poems)
- Love and Law (Vachel Lindsay Poems)
- The Congo: A Study of the Negro Race (Vachel Lindsay Poems)
- The Hope of the Resurrection (Vachel Lindsay Poems)