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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=532756" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Ghosts of the Buffaloes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry,<br>The windows were shaking, there was thunder on high,<br>The floor was a-tremble, the door was a-jar,<br>White fires, crimson fires, shone from afar.<br>I rushed to the door yard. The city was gone.<br>My home was a hut without orchard or lawn.<br>It was mud-smear and logs near a whispering stream,<br>Nothing else built by man could I see in my dream...<br>Then...<br>Ghost-kings came headlong, row upon row,<br>Gods of the Indians, torches aglow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They mounted the bear and the elk and the deer,<br>And eagles gigantic, aged and sere,<br>They rode long-horn cattle, they cried &quot;A-la-la.&quot;<br>They lifted the knife, the bow, and the spear,<br>They lifted ghost-torches from dead fires below,<br>The midnight made grand with the cry &quot;A-la-la.&quot;<br>The midnight made grand with a red-god charge,<br>A red-god show,<br>A red-god show,<br>&quot;A-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With bodies like bronze, and terrible eyes<br>Came the rank and the file, with catamount cries,<br>Gibbering, yipping, with hollow-skull clacks,<br>Riding white bronchos with skeleton backs,<br>Scalp-hunters, beaded and spangled and bad,<br>Naked and lustful and foaming and mad,<br>Flashing primeval demoniac scorn,<br>Blood-thirst and pomp amid darkness reborn,<br>Power and glory that sleep in the grass<br>While the winds and the snows and the great rains pass.<br>They crossed the gray river, thousands abreast,<br>They rode in infinite lines to the west,<br>Tide upon tide of strange fury and foam,<br>Spirits and wraiths, the blue was their home,<br>The sky was their goal where the star-flags are furled,<br>And on past those far golden splendors they whirled.<br>They burned to dim meteors, lost in the deep.<br>And I turned in dazed wonder, thinking of sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the wind crept by<br>Alone, unkempt, unsatisfied,<br>The wind cried and cried —<br>Muttered of massacres long past,<br>Buffaloes in shambles vast...<br>An owl said: &quot;Hark, what is a-wing?&quot;<br>I heard a cricket carolling,<br>I heard a cricket carolling,<br>I heard a cricket carolling.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then...<br>Snuffing the lightning that crashed from on high<br>Rose royal old buffaloes, row upon row.<br>The lords of the prairie came galloping by.<br>And I cried in my heart &quot;A-la-la, a-la-la,<br>A red-god show,<br>A red-god show,<br>A-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la, a-la-la.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Buffaloes, buffaloes, thousands abreast,<br>A scourge and amazement, they swept to the west.<br>With black bobbing noses, with red rolling tongues,<br>Coughing forth steam from their leather-wrapped lungs,<br>Cows with their calves, bulls big and vain,<br>Goring the laggards, shaking the mane,<br>Stamping flint feet, flashing moon eyes,<br>Pompous and owlish, shaggy and wise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like sea-cliffs and caves resounded their ranks<br>With shoulders like waves, and undulant flanks.<br>Tide upon tide of strange fury and foam,<br>Spirits and wraiths, the blue was their home,<br>The sky was their goal where the star-flags are furled,<br>And on past those far golden splendors they whirled.<br>They burned to dim meteors, lost in the deep,<br>And I turned in dazed wonder, thinking of sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I heard a cricket's cymbals play,<br>A scarecrow lightly flapped his rags,<br>And a pan that hung by his shoulder rang,<br>Rattled and thumped in a listless way,<br>And now the wind in the chimney sang,<br>The wind in the chimney,<br>The wind in the chimney,<br>The wind in the chimney,<br>Seemed to say: —<br>&quot;Dream, boy, dream,<br>If you anywise can.<br>To dream is the work<br>Of beast or man.<br>Life is the west-going dream-storm's breath,<br>Life is a dream, the sigh of the skies,<br>The breath of the stars, that nod on their pillows<br>With their golden hair mussed over their eyes.&quot;<br>The locust played on his musical wing,<br>Sang to his mate of love's delight.<br>I heard the whippoorwill's soft fret.<br>I heard a cricket carolling,<br>I heard a cricket carolling,<br>I heard a cricket say: &quot;Good-night, good-night,<br>Good-night, good-night,...good-night.&quot;</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=532756" data-title="The Ghosts of the Buffaloes de Vachel Lindsay" data-description="Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry,
The windows were shaking, there was thunder on high,
The floor was a-tremble, the door was a-jar,
White fires, crimson fires, shone from afar.
I rushed to the door yard. The city was gone.
My home wa..."></div>
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