Nicholas Vachel Lindsay 55

THE WIZARD IN THE STREET

[Concerning Edgar Allan Poe]

TTTHO now will praise the Wizard in the
' " street

With loyal songs, with humors grave and

sweet —
This Jingle-man, of strolling players born,
Whom holy folk have hurried by in scorn,
This threadbare jester, neither wise nor good.
With melancholy bells upon his hood?

The hurrying great ones scorn his Raven's

croak.
And well may mock his mystifying cloak
Inscribed with runes from tongues he has not

read
To make the ignoramus turn his head.
The artificial glitter of his eyes
Has captured half-grown boys. They think

him wise.
Some shallow player-folk esteem him deep,
Soothed by his steady wand's mesmeric sweep.
S6 General William Booth

The little lacquered boxes in his hands
Somehow suggest old times and reverenced

lands.
From them doll-monsters come, we know not

how:
Puppets, with Cain's black rubric on the brow.
Some passing jugglers, smiling, now concede
That his best cabinet-work is made, indeed
By bleeding his right arm, day after day,
Triumphantly to seal and to inlay.
They praise his little act of shedding tears;
A trick, well learned, with patience, thro' the

years.
I love him in this blatant, well-fed place.
Of all the faces, his the only face

Beautiful, tho' painted for the stage,

Lit up with song, then torn with cold, small

rage,
Shames that are living, loves and hopes long

dead,
Consuming pride, and hunger, real, for bread.
Here by the curb, ye Prophets thunder deep :
"What Nations sow, they must expect to
reap,"



Nicholas Fachel Lindsay '57

Or haste to clothe the race with truth and

power,
With hymns and shouts increasing every hour.
Useful are you. There stands the useless one
Who builds the Haunted Palace in the sun.
