Some one who was in being
When giant hands from the womb of the world
Tore the republic。
What was it in their eyes？
For I could never fathom
That mystical pathos of drooped eyelids；
And the serene sorrow of their eyes。
It was like a pool of water；
Amid oak trees at the edge of a forest；
Where the leaves fall；
As you hear the crow of a cock
From a faroff farm house； seen near the hills
Where the third generation lives； and the strong men
And the strong women are gone and forgotten。
And these grandchildren and great grand…children
Of the pioneers！
Truly did my camera record their faces； too；
With so much of the old strength gone；
And the old faith gone；
And the old mastery of life gone；
And the old courage gone；
Which labors and loves and suffers and sings
Under the sun！
Hannah Armstrong
I WROTE him a letter asking him for old times； sake
To discharge my sick boy from the army；
But maybe he couldn't read it。
Then I went to town and had James Garber；
Who wrote beautifully； write him a letter。
But maybe that was lost in the mails。
So I traveled all the way to Washington。
I was more than an hour finding the White House。
And when I found it they turned me away；
Hiding their smiles。
Then I thought： 〃Oh； well； he ain't the same as when I boarded him
And he and my husband worked together
And all of us called him Abe； there in Menard。〃
As a last attempt I turned to a guard and said：
〃Please say it's old Aunt Hannah Armstrong
From Illinois； come to see him about her sick boy
In the army。〃
Well； just in a moment they let me in！
And when he saw me he broke in a laugh；
And dropped his business as president；
And wrote in his own hand Doug's discharge；
Talking the while of the early days；
And telling stories。
Lucinda Matlock
I WENT to the dances at Chandlerville；
And played snap…out at Winchester。
One time we changed partners；
Driving home in the moonlight of middle June；
And then I found Davis。
We were married and lived together for seventy years；
Enjoying； working； raising the twelve children；
Eight of whom we lost
Ere I had reached the age of sixty。
I spun；
I wove；
I kept the house；
I nursed the sick；
I made the garden； and for holiday
Rambled over the fields where sang the larks；
And by Spoon River gathering many a shell；
And many a flower and medicinal weed
Shouting to the wooded hills； singing to the green valleys。
At ninetysix I had lived enough； that is all；
And passed to a sweet repose。
What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness；
Anger； discontent and drooping hopes？
Degenerate sons and daughters；
Life is too strong for you
It takes life to love Life。
Davis Matlock
SUPPOSE it is nothing but the hive：
That there are drones and workers
And queens； and nothing but storing honey
（Material things as well as culture and wisdom）
For the next generation； this generation never living；
Except as it swarms in the sun…light of youth；
Strengthening its wings on what has been gathered；
And tasting； on the way to the hive
From the clover field； the delicate spoil。
Suppose all this； and suppose the truth：
That the nature of man is greater
Than nature's need in the hive；
And you must bear the burden of life；
As well as the urge from your spirit's excess
Well； I say to live it out like a god
Sure of immortal life； though you are in doubt；
Is the way to live it。
If that doesn't make God proud of you
Then God is nothing but gravitation
Or sleep is the golden goal。
Jennie M'Grew
NOT； where the stairway turns in the dark
A hooded figure； shriveled under a flowing cloak！
Not yellow eyes in the room at night；
Staring out from a surface of cobweb gray！
And not the flap of a condor wing
When the roar of life in your ears begins
As a sound heard never before！
But on a sunny afternoon；
By a country road；
Where purple rag…weeds bloom along a straggling fence
And the field is gleaned； and the air is still
To see against the sun…light something black
Like a blot with an iris rim
That is the sign to eyes of second sight。 。 。
And that I saw！
Columbus Cheney
THIS weeping willow！
Why do you not plant a few
For the millions of children not yet born；
As well as for us？
Are they not non…existent； or cells asleep
Without mind？
Or do they come to earth； their birth
Rupturing the memory of previous being？
Answer！
The field of unexplored intuition is yours。
But in any case why not plant willows for them；
As well as for us？
Marie Bateson
You observe the carven hand
With the index finger pointing heavenward。
That is the direction； no doubt。
But how shall one follow it？
It is well to abstain from murder and lust；
To forgive； do good to others； worship God
Without graven images。
But these are external means after all
By which you chiefly do good to yourself。
The inner kernel is freedom；
It is light； purity
I can no more；
Find the goal or lose it； according to your vision。
Tennessee Claflin Shope
I WAS the laughing…stock of the village；
Chiefly of the people of good sense； as they call themselves
Also of the learned； like Rev。 Peet； who read Greek
The same as English。
For instead of talking free trade；
Or preaching some form of baptism；
Instead of believing in the efficacy
Of walking cracks； picking up pins the right way；
Seeing the new moon over the right shoulder；
Or curing rheumatism with blue glass；
I asserted the sovereignty of my own soul。
Before Mary Baker G。 Eddy even got started
With what she called science I had mastered the 〃Bhagavad Gita；〃
And cured my soul； before Mary Began to cure bodies with souls
Peace to all worlds！
Imanuel Ehrenhardt
I BEGAN with Sir William Hamilton's lectures。
Then studied Dugald Stewart；
And then John Locke on the Understanding；
And then Descartes； Fichte and Schelling；
Kant and then Schopenhauer
Books I borrowed from old Judge Somers。
All read with rapturous industry
Hoping it was reserved to me
To grasp the tail of the ultimate secret；
And drag it out of its hole。
My soul flew up ten thousand miles
And only the moon looked a little bigger。
Then I fell back； how glad of the earth！
All through the soul of William Jones
Who showed me a letter of John Muir。
Samuel Gardner
I WHO kept the greenhouse；
Lover of trees and flowers；
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm；
Measuring its generous branches with my eye；
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers。
And well they might：
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue； enriched by rain；
And warmed by the sun；
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots；
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk；
And thence to the branches； and into the leaves；
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang。
Now I； an undertenant of the earth； can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots。
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived？
Dow Kritt
SAMUEL is forever talking of his elm
But I did not need to die to learn about roots：
I； who dug all the ditches about Spoon River。
Look at my elm！
Sprung from as good a seed as his；
Sown at the same time；
It is dying at the top：
Not from lack of life； nor fungus；
Nor destroying insect； as the sexton thinks。
Look； Samuel； where the roots have struck rock；
And can no further spread。
And all the while the top of the tree
Is tiring itself out； and dying；
Trying to grow。
William Jones
ONCE in a while a curious weed unknown to me；
Needing a name from my books；
Once in a while a letter from Yeomans。
Out of the mussel…shells gathered along the shore
Sometimes a pearl with a glint like meadow rue：
Then betimes a letter from Tyndall in England；
Stamped with the stamp of Spoon River。
I； lover of Nature； beloved for my love of her；
Held such converse afar with the great
Who knew her better than I。
Oh； there is neither lesser nor greater；
Save as we make her greater and win from her keener delight。
With shells from the river cover me； cover me。
I lived in wonder； worshipping earth and heaven。
I have passed on the march eternal of endless life。
William Goode
To all in the village I seemed； no doubt；
To go this way and that way； aimlessly。 。
But here by the river you can see at twilight
The softwinged bats fly zig…zag here and there
They must fly so to catch their food。
And if you have ever lost your way at night；
In the deep wood near Miller's Ford；
And dodged this way and now that；
Wherever the light of the Milky Way shone through；
Trying to find the path；
You should understand I sought the way
With earnest zeal； and all my wanderings
Were wanderings in the quest。
J。 Milton Miles
WHENEVER the Presbyterian bell
Was rung by itself； I knew it as the Presbyterian bell。
But when its sound was mingled
With the sound of the Methodist； the Christian；
The Baptist and the Congregational；
I could no longer distinguish it；
Nor any one from the others； or either of them。
And as many voices called to me in life
Marvel not that I could not tell
The true from the false；
Nor even； at last； the voice that
I should have known。
Faith Matheny
AT first you will know not what they mean；
And you may never know；
And we may never tell you：
These sudden flashes in your soul；
Like lambent lightning on snowy clouds
At midnight when the moon is full。
They come in solitude； or perhaps
You sit with your friend； and all at once
A silence falls on speech； and his eyes
Without a flicker glow at you：
You two have seen the secret together；
He sees it in you； and you in him。
And there you sit thrilling lest the
Mystery Stand before you and strike you dead
With a splendor like the sun's。
Be brave； all souls who have such visions
As your body's alive as mine is dead；
You're catching a little whiff of the ether
Reserved for God Himself。
Willie Metcalf
I WAS Willie Metcalf。
They used to call me 〃Doctor Meyers；〃
Because； they said； I looked like him。
And he was my father； according to Jack McGuire。
I lived in the livery stable；
Sleeping on the floor
Side by side with Roger Baughman's bulldog；
Or sometimes in a stall。
I could crawl between the legs of the wildest ho