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〃Nobody cares for you；〃 rattled the crows；
As you dragged the whole reaper； next day； down the rows。
The three mules held back； yet you danced on your toes。
You pulled like a racer； and kept the mules chasing。
You tangled the harness with bright eyes side…glancing；
While the drunk driver bled you a pole for a lance
And the giant mules bit at you keeping their places。
O broncho that would not be broken of dancing。
In that last afternoon your boyish heart broke。
The hot wind came down like a sledge…hammer stroke。
The blood…sucking flies to a rare feast awoke。
And they searched out your wounds； your death…warrant tracing。
And the merciful men； their religion enhancing；
Stopped the red reaper； to give you a chance。
Then you died on the prairie； and scorned all disgraces；
O broncho that would not be broken of dancing。
Souvenir of Great Bend； Kansas。
The Prairie Battlements
（To Edgar Lee Masters； with great respect。）
Here upon the prairie
Is our ancestral hall。
Agate is the dome；
Cornelian the wall。
Ghouls are in the cellar；
But fays upon the stairs。
And here lived old King Silver Dreams；
Always at his prayers。
Here lived grey Queen Silver Dreams；
Always singing psalms；
And haughty Grandma Silver Dreams；
Throned with folded palms。
Here played cousin Alice。
Her soul was best of all。
And every fairy loved her；
In our ancestral hall。
Alice has a prairie grave。
The King and Queen lie low；
And aged Grandma Silver Dreams；
Four tombstones in a row。
But still in snow and sunshine
Stands our ancestral hall。
Agate is the dome；
Cornelian the wall。
And legends walk about；
And proverbs； with proud airs。
Ghouls are in the cellar；
But fays upon the stairs。
The Flower of Mending
（To Eudora； after I had had certain dire adventures。）
When Dragon…fly would fix his wings；
When Snail would patch his house；
When moths have marred the overcoat
Of tender Mister Mouse；
The pretty creatures go with haste
To the sunlit blue…grass hills
Where the Flower of Mending yields the wax
And webs to help their ills。
The hour the coats are waxed and webbed
They fall into a dream；
And when they wake the ragged robes
Are joined without a seam。
My heart is but a dragon…fly；
My heart is but a mouse；
My heart is but a haughty snail
In a little stony house。
Your hand was honey…comb to heal；
Your voice a web to bind。
You were a Mending Flower to me
To cure my heart and mind。
Alone in the Wind； on the Prairie
I know a seraph who has golden eyes；
And hair of gold； and body like the snow。
Here in the wind I dream her unbound hair
Is blowing round me； that desire's sweet glow
Has touched her pale keen face； and willful mien。
And though she steps as one in manner born
To tread the forests of fair Paradise；
Dark memory's wood she chooses to adorn。
Here with bowed head； bashful with half…desire
She glides into my yesterday's deep dream；
All glowing by the misty ferny cliff
Beside the far forbidden thundering stream。
Within my dream I shake with the old flood。
I fear its going； ere the spring days go。
Yet pray the glory may have deathless years；
And kiss her hair； and sweet throat like the snow。
To Lady Jane
Romance was always young。
You come today
Just eight years old
With marvellous dark hair。
Younger than Dante found you
When you turned
His heart into the way
That found the heavenly stair。
Perhaps we must be strangers。
I confess
My soul this hour is Dante's；
And your care
Should be for dolls
Whose painted hands caress
Your marvellous dark hair。
Romance； with moonflower face
And morning eyes；
And lips whose thread of scarlet prophesies
The canticles of a coming king unknown；
Remember； when you join him
On his throne；
Even me； your far off troubadour；
And wear
For me some trifling rose
Beneath your veil；
Dying a royal death；
Happy and pale；
Choked by the passion；
The wonder and the snare；
The glory and despair
That still will haunt and own
Your marvellous dark hair。
How I Walked Alone in the Jungles of Heaven
Oh； once I walked in Heaven； all alone
Upon the sacred cliffs above the sky。
God and the angels； and the gleaming saints
Had journeyed out into the stars to die。
They had gone forth to win far citizens；
Bought at great price； bring happiness for all：
By such a harvest make a holier town
And put new life within old Zion's wall。
Each chose a far…off planet for his home；
Speaking of love and mercy； truth and right；
Envied and cursed； thorn…crowned and scourged in time；
Each tasted death on his appointed night。
Then resurrection day from sphere to sphere
Sped on； with all the POWERS arisen again；
While with them came in clouds recruited hosts
Of sun…born strangers and of earth…born men。
And on that day gray prophet saints went down
And poured atoning blood upon the deep；
Till every warrior of old Hell flew free
And all the torture fires were laid asleep。
And Hell's lost company I saw return
Clear…eyed； with plumes of white； the demons bold
Climbed with the angels now on Jacob's stair；
And built a better Zion than the old。
。 。 。 。 。
And yet I walked alone on azure cliffs
A lifetime long； and loved each untrimmed vine：
The rotted harps； the swords of rusted gold；
The jungles of all Heaven then were mine。
Oh mesas and throne…mountains that I found！
Oh strange and shaking thoughts that touched me there；
Ere I beheld the bright returning wings
That came to spoil my secret； silent lair！
Fifth Section
The Poem Games
An Account of the Poem Games
In the summer of 1916 in the parlor of Mrs。 William Vaughn Moody；
and in the following winter in the Chicago Little Theatre；
under the auspices of Poetry； A Magazine of Verse； and in Mandel Hall；
the University of Chicago； under the auspices of the Senior Class；
these Poem Games were presented。 Miss Eleanor Dougherty
was the dancer throughout。 The entire undertaking developed
through the generous cooperation and advice of Mrs。 William Vaughn Moody。
The writer is exceedingly grateful to Mrs。 Moody and all concerned
for making place for the idea。 Now comes the test of its vitality。
Can it go on in the absence of its initiators？
Mr。 Lewellyn Jones； of the Chicago Evening Post； announced the affair
as a 〃rhythmic picnic〃。 Mr。 Maurice Browne of the Chicago Little Theatre
said Miss Dougherty was at the beginning of the old Greek Tragic Dance。
Somewhere between lies the accomplishment。
In the Congo volume； as is indicated in the margins；
the meaning of a few of the verses is aided by chanting。
In the Poem Ga