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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=532658" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In a nation of one hundred fine, mob-hearted, lynching, relenting, repenting millions, <br>There are plenty of sweeping, swinging, stinging, gorgeous things to shout about, <br>And knock your old blue devils out.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, <br>Candidate for president who sketched a silver Zion, <br>The one American Poet who could sing outdoors, <br>He brought in tides of wonder, of unprecedented splendor, <br>Wild roses from the plains, that made hearts tender, <br>All the funny circus silks <br>Of politics unfurled, <br>Bartlett pears of romance that were honey at the cores, <br>And torchlights down the street, to the end of the world.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There were truths eternal in the gap and tittle-tattle. <br>There were real heads broken in the fustian and the rattle. <br>There were real lines drawn: <br>Not the silver and the gold, <br>But Nebraska's cry went eastward against the dour and old, <br>The mean and cold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was eighteen ninety-six, and I was just sixteen <br>And Altgeld ruled in Springfield, Illinois, <br>When there came from the sunset Nebraska's shout of joy: <br>In a coat like a deacon, in a black Stetson hat <br>He scourged the elephant plutocrats <br>With barbed wire from the Platte. <br>The scales dropped from their mighty eyes. <br>They saw that summer's noon <br>A tribe of wonders coming <br>To a marching tune.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh the longhorns from Texas, <br>The jay hawks from Kansas, <br>The plop-eyed bungaroo and giant giassicus, <br>The varmint, chipmunk, bugaboo, <br>The horn-toad, prairie-dog and ballyhoo, <br>From all the newborn states arow, <br>Bidding the eagles of the west fly on, <br>Bidding the eagles of the west fly on. <br>The fawn, prodactyl, and thing-a-ma-jig, <br>The rackaboor, the hellangone, <br>The whangdoodle, batfowl and pig, <br>The coyote, wild-cat and grizzly in a glow, <br>In a miracle of health and speed, the whole breed abreast, <br>The leaped the Mississippi, blue border of the West, <br>From the Gulf to Canada, two thousand miles long:- <br>Against the towns of Tubal Cain, <br>Ah,-- sharp was their song. <br>Against the ways of Tubal Cain, too cunning for the young, <br>The longhorn calf, the buffalo and wampus gave tongue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These creatures were defending things Mark Hanna never dreamed: <br>The moods of airy childhood that in desert dews gleamed, <br>The gossamers and whimsies, <br>The monkeyshines and didoes <br>Rank and strange <br>Of the canyons and the range, <br>The ultimate fantastics <br>Of the far western slope, <br>And of prairie schooner children <br>Born beneath the stars, <br>Beneath falling snows, <br>Of the babies born at midnight <br>In the sod huts of lost hope, <br>With no physician there, <br>Except a Kansas prayer, <br>With the Indian raid a howling through the air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all these in their helpless days <br>By the dour East oppressed, <br>Mean paternalism <br>Making their mistakes for them, <br>Crucifying half the West, <br>Till the whole Atlantic coast <br>Seemed a giant spiders' nest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And these children and their sons <br>At last rode through the cactus, <br>A cliff of mighty cowboys <br>On the lope, <br>With gun and rope. <br>And all the way to frightened Maine the old East heard them call, <br>And saw our Bryan by a mile lead the wall <br>Of men and whirling flowers and beasts, <br>The bard and prophet of them all. <br>Prairie avenger, mountain lion, <br>Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, <br>Gigantic troubadour, speaking like a siege gun, <br>Smashing Plymouth Rock with his boulders from the West, <br>And just a hundred miles behind, tornadoes piled across the sky, <br>Blotting out sun and moon, <br>A sign on high.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Headlong, dazed and blinking in the weird green light, <br>The scalawags made moan, <br>Afraid to fight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Bryan came to Springfield , and Altgeld gave him greeting, <br>Rochester was deserted, Divernon was deserted, <br>Mechanicsburg, Riverton, Chickenbristle, Cotton Hill, <br>Empty: for all Sangamon drove to the meeting- <br>In silver-decked racing cart, <br>Buggy, buckboard, carryall, <br>Carriage, phaeton, whatever would haul, <br>And silver-decked farm wagons gritted, banged and rolled, <br>With the new tale of Bryan by the iron tires told.<br>The State House loomed afar, <br>A speck, a hive, a football, a captive balloon! <br>And the town was all one spreading wing of bunting, plumes, and sunshine, <br>Every rag and flag and Bryan picture sold, <br>When the rigs in many a dusty line <br>Jammed our streets at noon, <br>And joined the wild parade against the power of gold. <br>We roamed, we boys from High School, <br>With mankind, while Springfield gleamed, silk-lined. <br>Oh, Tom Dines, and Art Fitzgerald, <br>And the gangs that they could get! <br>I can hear them yelling yet. <br>Helping the incantation, <br>Defying aristocracy, <br>With every bridle gone, <br>Ridding the world of the low down mean, <br>Bidding the eagles of the West fly on, <br>Bidding the eagles of the West fly on, <br>We were bully, wild and woolly, <br>Never yet curried below the knees. <br>We saw flowers in the air, <br>Fair as the Pleiades, bright as Orion, <br>-Hopes of all mankind, <br>Made rare, resistless, thrice refined. <br>Oh, we bucks from every Springfield ward! <br>Colts of democracy- <br>Yet time-winds out of Chaos from the star-fields of the Lord.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The long parade rolled on. I stood by my best girl. <br>She was a cool young citizen, with wise and laughing eyes. <br>With my necktie by my ear, I was stepping on my dear, <br>But she kept like a pattern without a shaken curl. <br>She wore in her hair a brave prairie rose. <br>Her gold chums cut her, for that was not the pose. <br>No Gibson Girl would wear it in that fresh way. <br>But we were fairy Democrats, and this was our day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The earth rocked like the ocean, the sidewalk was a deck. <br>The houses for the moment were lost in the wide wreck. <br>And the bands played strange and stranger music as they trailed along. <br>Against the ways of Tubal Cain, <br>Ah, sharp was their song! <br>The demons in the bricks, the demons in the grass, <br>The demons in the bank-vaults peered out to see us pass, <br>And the angels in the trees, the angels in the grass, <br>The angels in the flags, peered out to see us pass. <br>And the sidewalk was our chariot, and the flowers bloomed higher, <br>And the street turned to silver and the grass turned to fire, <br>And then it was but grass, and the town was there again, <br>A place for women and men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then we stood where we could see <br>Every band, <br>And the speaker's stand. <br>And Bryan took the platform. <br>And he was introduced. <br>And he lifted his hand <br>And cast a new spell. <br>Progressive silence fell <br>In Springfield, in Illinois, around the world.<br>Then we heard these glacial boulders across the prairie rolled: <br>'The people have a right to make their own mistakes.... <br>You shall not crucify mankind <br>Upon a cross of gold.' <br>And everybody heard him- <br>In the streets and State House yard. <br>And everybody heard him in Springfield, in Illinois, <br>Around and around and around the world, <br>That danced upon its axis <br>And like a darling broncho whirled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">July, August, suspense, <br>Wall Street lost to sense. <br>August, September, October, <br>More suspense, <br>And the whole East down like a wind-smashed fence.<br>Then Hanna to the rescue, Hanna of Ohio, <br>Rallying the roller-tops, <br>Rallying the bucket-shops. <br>Threatening drouth and death, <br>Promising manna, <br>Rallying the trusts against the bawling flannelmouth; <br>Invading misers' cellars, tin-cans, socks, <br>Melting down the rocks, <br>Pouring out the long green to a million workers, <br>Spondulix by the mountain-load, to stop each new tornado, <br>And beat the cheapskate, blatherskite, <br>Populistic, anarchistic, deacon-desperado.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Election night at midnight: <br>Boy Brian's defeat. <br>Defeat of western silver. <br>Defeat of the wheat. <br>Victory of letterfiles <br>And plutocrats in miles <br>With dollar signs upon their coats, <br>Diamond watchchains on their vests and spats on their feet. <br>Victory of custodians, Plymouth Rock, <br>And all that inbred landlord stock. <br>Victory of the neat. <br>Defeat of the aspen groves of Colorado valleys, <br>The blue bells of the Rockies, <br>And blue bonnets of old Texas, by the Pittsburg alleys. <br>Defeat of alfalfa and the Mariposa lily. <br>Defeat of the Pacific and the long Mississippi. <br>Defeat of the young by the old and the silly. <br>Defeat of tornadoes by the poison vats supreme. <br>Defeat of my boyhood, defeat of my dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is McKinley, that respectable McKinley, <br>The man without an angle or a tangle, <br>Who soothed down the city man and soothed down the farmer, <br>The German, the Irish, the Southerner, the Northerner, <br>Who climbed every greasy pole, and slipped through every crack; <br>Who soothed down the gambling hall, the bar-room, the church, <br>The devil-vote, the angel vote, the neutral vote, <br>The desperately wicked, and their victims on the rack, <br>The gold vote, the silver vote, the brass vote, the lead vote, <br>Every vote?...<br>Where is McKinley, Mark Hanna's McKinley, <br>His slave, his echo, his suit of clothes? <br>Gone to join the shadows, with the pomps of that time, <br>And the flames of that summer's prairie rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is Cleveland whom the Democratic platform <br>Read from the party in a glorious hour? <br>Gone to join the shadows with pitchfork Tillman, <br>And sledge-hammer Altgeld who wrecked his power.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is Hanna, bulldog Hanna, <br>Low-browed Hanna, who said: Stand pat'? <br>Gone to his place with old Pierpont Morgan. <br>Gone somewhere...with lean rat Platt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is Roosevelt, the young dude cowboy, <br>Who hated Bryan, then aped his way? <br>Gone to join the shadows with might Cromwell <br>And tall King Saul, till the Judgement day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is Altgeld, brave as the truth, <br>Whose name the few still say with tears? <br>Gone to join the ironies with Old John Brown, <br>Whose fame rings loud for a thousand years.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is that boy, that Heaven-born Bryan, <br>That Homer Bryan, who sang from the West? <br>Gone to join the shadows with Altgeld the Eagle, <br>Where the kings and the slaves and the troubadours rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Vachel+Lindsay">Vachel Lindsay</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=532658" data-title="Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan de Vachel Lindsay" data-description="I

In a nation of one hundred fine, mob-hearted, lynching, relenting, repenting millions, 
There are plenty of sweeping, swinging, stinging, gorgeous things to shout about, 
And knock your old blue devils out.

I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan, Br..."></div>
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