MISSOURI POEMS

FROM PAUMANOK STARTING – Walt Whitman Poem

From Paumanock starting, I fly like a bird, around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all. To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs, to Kanada, till I absorb Kanada in myself-to Michigan then, to Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (they are inimitable). Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs-to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas, to sing theirs, to Tennessee and Kentucky-to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs, to Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere. To sing first, (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be), the idea of all-of the western world, one and inseparable. And then the song of each member of These States.

YORKSHIRE FIVE – Dorothy Una Ratcliffe Poem

When I’se been by Tiber an’ when I’se been by Seine, listenin’ theer messages, I lang to hear agen secrets of home-watters, born amang moor-sedges, fallin’ doon like sparklin’ ale ower steean ridges. An’ when I’se been by Danube, an’ when I’se been by Rhine, tryin’ to onderstand ‘cm, my homin’ heart ‘ud pine, for t’ music o’ my ain becks ‘at spring ‘mang boggy peat, wheer lapwings cry an’ moorlarks lift prayers sae pure an’ sweet. Missouri an’ St. Lawrence, Volga an’ Thames an’ Dee, All on ’em are varra fine, but niver t’ same to me, as rivers ‘at are singin’ wheer my faither speech prevails, a-crinklin’ an’ a-crinklin’ doon my forsaken Dales.

THE LIGHT CANOE – Epes Sargent Poem

Beside Missouri’s swelling waves, an Indian maiden knelt, and gazed across the shadowed stream, and through the forest’s belt. And while the leaves about her fell, and birds all nestward flew. “Oh, that I might but see,” she cried, “My lover’s light canoe!” The lurid air, the brassy sky, await the throbbing gale. And o’er the pathway of the sun, the loosened vapors sail. And, spreading east and west, they smirch, each speck of heavenly blue. But still the lonely watcher sighs. “Where is his light canoe?” A black duck lighted on a wave, and pecked its oily breast. “I see,” the Indian maiden said, “My lover’s eagle crest!” But soon the bird its cradle spurned, and cloudward swiftly flew. “Ah no! ‘t is not my lover’s crest, ‘t is not his light canoe.” A fish leaped from the river’s brim. “I see his paddle dart!” It sank into the waves again, and like it sank her heart. “Ah, woe is me! the storm comes down, I hear its rushing sugh, Great Spirit! bring, oh bring him back, safe in his light canoe!” She heeded not the arrowy rain, the swelling flood, the blast. She gazed across the smoking tide, until the storm had past. The purple clouds coiled o’er the west, the red sun shimmered through. It flushed the wave, but did not show, the Indian’s light canoe. Ah, Indian maiden! watch no more, beside Missouri’s stream. In vain thou strain’st thine eyes to see, thy lover’s paddle gleam! The white men’s guns have laid him low! Long, long did they pursue. And now the intrepid warrior lies, stiff in his light canoe!