"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Tuesday, September 9, 2025

R.E. Slater - Song of Mishigami



Song of Mishigami

by R.E. Slater


Long ages past when ice walls towered,
and massive glaciers carved the land,
meltwaters filled the hallowed halls,
birthing inland seas of lore and legend.

Spirit songs of ancient wanderer's saw
Immense Waters to the paleolithic eye;
later Ojibwe clans spoke of Mishigami,
Grand Lac by early French Voyageurs.

Every school child learns these truths,
can recite them one by one; whether
at the desk or on the sandy shorelines,
'neath Mishigami's golden weathers.

One legend tells of great sleeping dunes
cradling a mother bear in silent vigil;
escaped drowning black storm and wave,
but losing her baby cubs following after.

So spellbound Anishinaabe children learn
of two nearby islands set north and south;
placed by great Manitou Spirit's loving hand
dread warnings to Mishigami's many moods.

Today, prodigal waves in white-capped blue
lend wonder to the wanderer’s soul; who
might scrape bared feet along singing sands,
to ancient rhythms still strong and present.

Where winged heralds of Mishigami's dominion,
cut against billowing skies in restless search,
screeching complaint o'er its golden strands,
white-winged daughters of the Sacred Waters.

In daylight dunegrass marks the hot sands,
set afire a relentless sun's burning flames;
come eventide moonlight fills aspen groves,
sheltering secreted lover's unmet conspires.

From sunrise's glow to sunset's flame,
beachcombers roam the lapping shores;
to suddenly pause along the water's edge,
bewitched a fleeting moment’s transpire.

Whether at gilded morning's waking hours,
or blue'd skies adrift airy cloudy puffs; or
by sunset's impassioned blazoned colours,
Lac Mishigami inspires the imbibing soul.

But alas, all Sleeping Giants must awaken,
a sudden, restless shift, shakes the waters,
once calming waves now twist and churn,
Mighty Mishigami is aroused its slumber.

Terrible and cruel, frothy waters mount higher,
hoisted bright red flags whip against a rising gale;
abroad, deep-throated foghorns blare dire warning,
"Beware, beware," a Giant's mood has awakened!

Tho' a hundred lighthouses guard its coastlines,
each set upon rocky escarpments firm and wide;
a worrying helplessness lights their signal lanterns,
Beware the depths! Perilous currents churn within!

For an unforgiving, cursed, inland sea arises,
unyielding and merciless in speech and weight;
its hymns of grief as many as its songs of laud,
composing torn laments to its fabled praise.

By its foul waves, the heavy tides have claimed,
too many lives too soon; memorials rise along
the piers and bays - from boardwalk channelk
to silent shores - mourning the drowned dead.

In benediction let us join the timeless dirge,
with Mother Bear lain upon her golden strand,
ever in present, ceaseless vigil to love and loss,
too oft echoed too many legions of broken hearts:

    Beneath the waves forgotten ages lay at rest,
    where whited fossils sleep in silenced depths;
    abroad, brooding waters hide a heartless face,
    wary tribute to an alluring, moody, presence.

    Mishigami's deceptive wonder haunts its realms,
    its ancient songs remember creation's glories;
    endless prayers breathe its majestic lure,
    betrayed in ever-shifting, changeling beauty.


R.E. Slater
September 9-12, 2025

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved

Notes

1  The glaciation of  the Great Lakes occurred 15,000 years ago scouring and depressing great basins which filled with meltwater.
2 Lake Michigan is the third largest of the Great Lakes; is wholly contained in the continental U.S., is the largest freshwater lake within America, and sixth largest freshwater lake in the world.
3 The Ojibwe word Mishigami (written Misi-zaaga’igan in modern orthography) literally means “great water” or “great lake.” Misi = great, large, vast + Zaaga’igan = lake, body of water. So Mishigami (or Michi-gami) translates most directly as “Great Lake” - which is where the state name Michigan comes from.
French Canadian Voyageurs of the 18th-and-19th century explored many regions of Canada and the United States transporting furs and supplies between native populations and Europe's pioneering (migrant) settlers.
4 Sleeping Bear Dunes honors the Anishinaabe's legend; North and South Manitou Islands honor the lost cubs. The spirit beings are known as "Manitou".
5 Mishipeshu, is a snake-like horned viper/lizard known as a "water panther" that protects the underwater copper reserves of the lake by dangerous storm and water spouts.
6 Mythical Guardians are protectors safeguarding sacred places, treasures, knowledge, or people in mythology and folklore. Usually a deity, Spirit, or mythical entity, they defend against evil, maintain cosmic order, and symbolize protection, sometimes even acting as patrons for specific places or groups of people.

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
by Gordon Lightfoot
"Gitche Gumee" is a name, derived from the Ojibwe language, that refers to Lake Superior, meaning "Great Sea" or "Great Water". The term was popularized by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in his poem "The Song of Hiawatha" and also used by Gordon Lightfoot in his song about the Edmund Fitzgerald sinking. While "Gitche Gumee" is a commonly known spelling, variations like Gitchigami or Kitchigami are also used, reflecting different dialects of the Ojibwe language.

Ojibwe - Masters of Great Lakes for Centuries
Native American History
by Native Legends & History Stories

Before it was Michigan. History in 5 minutes!
by Local Historian
Long before Michigan became a state, its lands were home to Native American peoples dating back over 10,000 years. Early Paleo-Indians, Hopewell, and Mississippian cultures left behind ceremonial mounds, artifacts, and extensive trade networks. By the 17th century, Algonquian-speaking tribes like the Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi formed the Three Fires Confederacy, thriving through agriculture, hunting, and fishing.

With European arrival, Michigan became a hub for the fur trade, led by French explorers like Étienne Brûlé. Tensions rose as British policies disrupted Native life, leading to Pontiac’s Rebellion. Treaties and the Indian Removal Act eventually displaced many tribes. Despite this, Native traditions endure, shaping Michigan’s rich history and culture.

* * * * * * * *




 Lake of Endless Horizon
by ChatGPT-5

O inland sea of silvered blue,
where sky dissolves in wave and hue,
your breath is wind, your heart is tide,
your arms hold shorelines far and wide.

You wear the dawn in amber flame,
at dusk the stars recall your name;
storms may rouse your thundering might,
yet peace descends with moonlit light.

The gulls are choristers of your song,
the dunes your temple, ancient, strong;
the cities rise, the forests lean,
to honor all that lies between.

O keeper vast of depth untold,
your waters cradle young and old;
from timeless stone to shifting sand,
you bind the spirit to the land.

So praise resounds, both deep and near—
Lake Michigan, forever blue and clear,
a sacred mirror, calm or wild,
in you, creation is become reconciled.


*I gave chatbot my verse above for inspiration;
thus the similarities; I thought it did a nice  job.
- re slater


Lake Michigan Winter Beaches


References





Storms on the Great Lakes


History of the Great Lakes

A Brief History of the Great Lakes

The history of the Great Lakes began ~14,000 years ago when retreating glaciers carved out the basins, which filled with meltwater to form the lakes. For millennia, Native American tribes lived in the region, their cultures deeply intertwined with the lakes. European explorers arrived in the early 1600s, using the Great Lakes for fur trade and as a route for exploration and settlement. The lakes later became crucial for military purposes, industrial development, and transportation.

Geological Formation

Glacial Activity - The Great Lakes were formed by the massive Laurentide ice sheet, which covered the region during the last Ice Age.

Basin Carving - The immense weight and movement of the ice sheet scoured out the earth, creating the depressions that would become the lake basins.

Melting and Filling - As the climate warmed the ice sheet retreated about 14,000 years ago, meltwater filled the depressed lake basins, forming the Great Lakes.

Present Shape - The lakes reached their current shapes and sizes approximately 3,000 to 10,000 years ago, depending on the lake location.

Human History

Native American Presence - Native American tribes were the first inhabitants of the Great Lakes region, living there for thousands of years before European arrival. The names of the lakes are derived from Native American words or tribal names.

European Exploration - In 1615, Étienne Brûlé, an explorer for Samuel de Champlain, is credited with being the first European to visit the Great Lakes. The lakes became a key route for fur trading and exploration in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Conflicts and Control - The Great Lakes were a site of conflict between European powers. The French and Indian War (1754–1763) and the American Revolutionary War saw the lakes used for military purposes.

Industrial Hub - In the 19th and 20th centuries, the development of railroads and increased shipping transformed the Great Lakes into a vital economic and industrial center.

Modern Era - Today, the Great Lakes are essential for recreation, with activities like boating and fishing, and remain a significant economic resource for the surrounding region.


Monday, September 8, 2025

Poems of Lake Michigan



Lake Michigan
by Pessie Hershfeld Pomerantz

It’s been my fate now several times
to listen to the play of your waves,
to behold the rhythm of your ancient tide;
I am a splinter, just a vestige
of a tree full with branches;
I sit here at your sandy shores
thinking of young, hopeful times
with longing in my lonely silence.
My fate is to see once again
the shimmer of your waves
now blue, now green, now spectral gray,
to watch a sailboat on your back adrift
and see how your shoulders shrug, lift,
Lake Michigan, my young friend!






Picnic Boat
by Carl Sandburg

Sunday night and the park policemen tell each other it
is dark as a stack of black cats on Lake Michigan.
A big picnic boat comes home to Chicago from the peach
farms of Saugatuck.
Hundreds of electric bulbs break the night's darkness, a
flock of red and yellow birds with wings at a standstill.
Running along the deck railings are festoons and leaping
in curves are loops of light from prow and stern
to the tall smokestacks.
Over the hoarse crunch of waves at my pier comes a
hoarse answer in the rhythmic oompa of the brasses
playing a Polish folk-song for the home-comers.







Tideless Lake
by Mae stier

You move as though the moon
pulls you, but its sway is nominal
when compared to the wind,
the atmospheric pressure,
the will of your waves
to creep up the shore
and caress the dunes,
reminding me I do not need
a moon to move.






August on Lake Michigan
by Joe Neely, August 14, 2023

August is Lake Michigan’s way
of clearing boats from her bays
and bonfires from her beaches,
the month when cottage owners
give up the idea of staining the deck
and call local painters who promise
to look at the job after Labor Day –
a comfortable, necessary fiction
understood by painter and owner alike.


“How much longer ‘ya up here?”
is the talk at August gatherings,
while glum shopkeepers
post signs proclaiming
END OF SEASON SALE!
and lower prices to full retail.


August’s big waves and wind
chase off all but the fortunate few
and now the lake can rest.
Now she gathers her strength
to face November’s roar.

- JN

I published this poem last year during August, but it bears repeating. I have always loved August on Lake Michigan, whether it was riding big waves with best friends in Grand Haven or, as an adult, savoring the last days of summer at the cottage in Good Hart. My mother loved August on the Big Lake, too; August and summer-ripe tomatoes. God Bless us all. (If you have spent time in Lake Michigan resort towns, I hope you got a chuckle out of the lines about local tradespeople and shopkeepers.)






Lake Michigan
by David Watters

On the banks of Lake Michigan I found my true loves soul
tired and twisted in a wreckage of folded metal resembling avant garde sculptures

nameless, senseless, and cold I drug her from the wreckage while the sky was painted red and black

now with the moon in my eyes I breathe life into her mouth but each breathe given means each breathe taken

as the sun begins to rise i see visions of a former life—forgotten life when we once loved each other—

when we were children dancing in the spring rain
warm and wet we embrace under endless rainbows saturated with everything under the sun

we become spring rain, we become one

now with the coming of the day I say farewell to past love, I say farewell to past life
where I'm going no man can follow

I'm going to the sun so I can stay warm.


Copyright © David Watters | Year Posted 2005






Lake Michigan

by Art Wielgus

Just as mirror of the sea,
Lake Michigan’s shinning big.
Boats are passing with the sails –
summer has refreshing air.

Ideal shallow to swim water –
heated, crystal air vibrates,
at trees people sit in shades,
some are playing on fine sand.

Shining with the crystal sparks,
spacious beaches - waterfront
and the Downtown stands afar.

Reddish setting sun with lure,
sky has color of vast water –
pleasant air descents cool.


Copyright © Art Wielgus | Year Posted 2016






Spring On Lake Michigan
by Jon Jones

I look upon the water glittering and bright, white caps flashing, dancing diamonds in the light

The breeze is strong, crisp and clear. Boats abound jibing sails dotted far and near
A flash of white and screeching cry, seagulls appear racing through the sky
Sun on my face fills me with cheer, for finally spring is here

The coast before me melds into cityscape, buildings spiraling high. Glass and steel glimmer bright in the light, stretching far before my sight

People hurry by hither and thither, and I wonder if any take a pause to consider
The beauty of this place, this breath in time, spring is here truly a moment divine


Copyright © Jon Jones | Year Posted 2015







Ode To the Mighty Great Lakes
by Robert Trezise Jr.

Coast to Coast
The sun ascends over the Great Lakes
Settles back into the indigo depths
Flight of a copper swan shore to shore
With her sweeping wing tips skimming

Commanding
The azure locks of eternity to open
Gather her iron-ore souls from the cliffs
That lift along the turquoise bays
Arise

Our northern Holy Ghost.
These drinkable oceans are graves to glaciers
Tombs for freighters

Limestone crypts
Where condemned sailors still dance and drink
A thousand clicks amidst the ancient glow
Below 
Moon boulders like mobiles of suspended fish.

It’s as if Michigan’s peninsulas
Was its own sliding green continents
Fitting together pieces of a new planet

Waves bellow a dare to all the apocalyptic surfers
Come sail these giant breaking swells.

Though you’re a dipped hand
Waving to outer space
It’s your down-to-Earth bare cold caress
That we count on for dousing the summer steam
From our steely brow.

Michiganians
Plant your bare feet into the hot tops
Of the Sand Dunes of Sleeping Bear

Prepare an avalanche slide
From the side of your hand
A child pushing away the world’s troubles

Throw out your hard chest
Reveal your beautiful breasts
Like the goddesses and gods that you are.

Gaze out from these colossal pink shores
To the horizon that bends like a violin
Under the chin of a setting sun.

Michiganians
You are the everlasting Keepers
Of the Mighty Mighty Great Lakes.


Copyright © Robert Trezise Jr. | Year Posted 2018






Eternal Summer at the Lake
A poem about Lake Michigan and my family
by Jessica Archuleta

I want to spend
every moment I can
watching you
swim
play in the sand
laugh when the waves hit you
all at Lake Michigan.

My burdens are lifted
seeing each of you
smiling,
being free,
toes sunk deep
in the sand,
sun shining gently
on your faces,
laughing,
chasing and teasing
dragging, tossing
one another
into the lake,
burying bodies in sand
up to the face,
attempting the world’s
largest sand fortress,
shouting loudly
when the waters rise up
washing it away.

If only
summer days
could live on
never end,
blocking cold out
stopping you all
from growing up,
I’d live all my days
with you at the lake.

We’d never grow old
never be bored,
sailboats gliding by
kites flying high
capturing our
imaginations,
taco truck
snack shop
ice cream truck
quick run to the store
refilling the cooler
and picnic basket,
all would provide
our food,
a roaring hot fire
at night
to stay warm,
start fresh at sunrise
ready to swim
happy to play
never packing up
staying always
together
on the shores
of Lake Michigan.






At Burt Lake
by Tom Andrews

To disappear into the right words
and to be their meanings. . .

October dusk.
Pink scraps of clouds, a plum-colored sky.
The sycamore tree spills a few leaves.
The cold focuses like a lens. . .

Now night falls, its hair
caught in the lake's eye.

Such clarity of things. Already
I've said too much. . .

Lord,
language must happen to you
the way this black pane of water,
chipped and blistered with stars,
happens to me.






Saturday, September 6, 2025

Poets of the Gilded Age



POETS OF THE GILDED AGE
1870-1900

Compiled by R.E. Slater


The New Colossus
by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

- EL


AI Overview
Among the most prominent American poets writing during the Gilded Age (roughly 1870–1900) were Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, and Paul Laurence Dunbar. While some poets embraced traditional forms, others experimented with new styles and techniques to reflect the rapid social, economic, and industrial changes of the era.

Major Gilded Age poets

Emily Dickinson (1830–1886): Dickinson, one of America's most innovative and profound poets, created a unique body of work from her home in Amherst, Massachusetts. Although her unconventional poetry explored themes of death, nature, and immortality, it was not widely published or recognized until after her death. poems by Emily Dickinson

Walt Whitman (1819–1892): Whitman's free-verse epic, Leaves of Grass, bridged the Transcendentalist and Realist periods. His poetry celebrated the democratic spirit of the American people, while also providing a "counter-balance to the materialism" that began to define the Gilded Age. poems by Walt Whitman

Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872–1906): As one of the first African American poets to achieve national recognition, Dunbar's poetry offered a vital perspective on the Black experience in 19th-century America. His work incorporated dialect and lyricism to explore themes of identity, social injustice, and the human spirit. poems by Paul Laurence Dunbar


Sympathy
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
    When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
    When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
    Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
    And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
    When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
    But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings

- PLD



Sidney Lanier (1842–1881): Lanier, a Southern-born poet and musician, was often noted for his musicality and complex rhythms. Disturbed by the social changes of the era, he explored his fears and doubts in poems like "The Symphony" and "The Marshes of Glynn".

Emma Lazarus (1849–1887): Lazarus, a poet and activist, is best known for her sonnet "The New Colossus," written in 1883. It was later inscribed on a plaque inside the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty, and its words—"Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"—continue to define the American immigrant experience.

Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935): Robinson is known for his short, ironic character studies of ordinary individuals in the fictional Tilbury Town. Poems like "Richard Cory" and "Miniver Cheevy" often depict lives of quiet desperation and the darker side of the American dream.

Richard Cory

by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

- EAR

American westward expansion is idealized in Emanuel Leutze’s painting “Westward the Course
of Empire Takes Its Way
” (1861). The title, from a 1726 poem by Bishop Berkeley, was a phrase
often quoted in the era of manifest destiny.

Characteristics of Gilded Age poetry
Poetry from this period reflected the profound social and economic upheavals of the time, leading to a wide range of styles and themes.

Realism and satire: Just as Mark Twain's novel The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today satirized the era's materialism, many poets used realism to portray both the glittering wealth and the underlying corruption and injustice of the period.

Diverse perspectives: Poets such as Paul Laurence Dunbar and Emma Lazarus addressed social issues and inequality from the viewpoint of marginalized communities, adding crucial new voices to the literary landscape.

Experiments in form: Some poets, like Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman, challenged traditional poetic structures, paving the way for 20th-century modernism. Their unconventional uses of punctuation, meter, and free verse broke away from the more formal styles of the past.

Figure 20.16 This image of Coxey’s Army marching on Washington to ask for jobs may have helped
inspire L. Frank Baum’s story of Dorothy and her friends seeking help from the Wizard of Oz.

Traditionalism (the "Genteel Tradition"): A group of influential, often Harvard-educated poets known as the Boston Brahmins (including Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and James Russell Lowell) continued to produce poetry in more conventional, European-oriented forms. Their work was broadly popular but sometimes viewed as conservative and out of touch with America's rapidly changing society.

Regionalism: Some poets focused on capturing the unique character of specific American regions and dialects, similar to other Gilded Age writers. This was partly a response to the rapid changes brought by industrialization and urbanization.

While Regionalism as a distinct movement flourished later, in the early 20th century, poets associated with the Gilded Age who explored regional themes include Edgar Lee Masters, known for the Midwestern focus of his Spoon River Anthology, and the Midwestern poets of the Chicago School, such as Carl Sandburg and Vachel Lindsay, who championed realism and depicted ordinary life in the American interior before World War I. 

By Carl Wilhelm Hahn - Own work, Wm pearl, Public Domain

Here are some examples and key figures:

Edgar Lee Masters: A Midwestern poet who, along with Sandburg and Lindsay, was part of the Chicago School and focused on the lives of ordinary people in his region. His work, like Spoon River Anthology, explored the lives of rural residents.

Carl Sandburg: Another central figure in the Chicago School, his poetry captured the sounds and spirit of the Midwest, particularly Chicago, and challenged the East Coast literary establishment.

Vachel Lindsay: Also a prominent Midwestern poet, Lindsay shared Sandburg's interest in ordinary Midwesterners and used realist techniques to reach a broader audience.

Paul Laurence Dunbar: While known for his work that depicted African American culture and dialect, much of Dunbar's work also captured the essence of rural American life, particularly in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

These poets, though sometimes associated with the broader movement of Regionalism that gained steam in the early 1900s, are considered precursors to it, with their Gilded Age works showcasing a growing interest in depicting specific American regions and their diverse populations.


Richard Bone
by Edgar Lee Masters

When I first came to Spoon River
I did not know whether what they told me
Was true or false.
They would bring me an epitaph
And stand around the shop while I worked
And say "He was so kind," "He was wonderful,"
"She was the sweetest woman," "He was a consistent Christian."
And I chiseled for them whatever they wished,
All in ignorance of its truth.
But later, as I lived among the people here,
I knew how near to the life
Were the epitaphs that were ordered for them when they died.
But still I chiseled whatever they paid me to chisel
And made myself party to the false chronicles
Of the stones,
Even as the historian does who writes
Without knowing the truth,
Or because he is influenced to hide it.

- ELM


Chicago
by Carl Sandburg

        Hog Butcher for the World,
        Tool maker, Stacker of Wheat,
        Player with Railroads and the Nation's
             Freight Handler;
        Stormy, husky, brawling,
        City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
            Bareheaded,
            Shoveling,
            Wrecking,
            Planning,
            Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
            Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.



Abraham Lincoln Walks At Midnight
by Vachel Lindsay

It is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court-house pacing up and down.

Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
He lingers where his children used to play,
Or through the market, on the well-worn stones
He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.

A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,
A famous high top-hat and plain worn shawl
Make him the quaint great figure that men love,
The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.

He cannot sleep upon his hillside now.
He is among us: — as in times before!
And we who toss and lie awake for long
Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.

His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings.
Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep?
Too many peasants fight, they know not why,
Too many homesteads in black terror weep.

The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main.
He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now
The bitterness, the folly and the pain.

He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn
Shall come; — the shining hope of Europe free;
The league of sober folk, the Workers' Earth,
Bringing long peace to Cornwall, Alp and Sea.

It breaks his heart that kings must murder still,
That all his hours of travail here for men
Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace
That he may sleep upon his hill again?