In Saturn they grow like wonderful weeds, In some ways like weeds of ours, Twisted and beautiful, straight and awry, But nodding all day to the heavenly powers. The stalks are smoke, And the blossoms green light, And crystalline fireworks flowers. [Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY 1922 ROCKETS IN SATURN] MEDITATION A spirit in soft slippers Walked the Gulf Stream floor. She opened many a cabin door Of ships a long time underseas. She read long-rest Egyptian books And looked upon skull-faces, And read their restless looks Shining through the shadows Of phosphorescent streaming waves,-- Impatient for the Judgment horn To lift them from their purple graves. [Illustration] THE TRAVELER The Moon’s a devil-jester Who makes himself too free. The rascal is not always Where he appears to be:-- Sometimes he is in my heart-- Sometimes in the sea. Then tides are in my heart, And tides are in the sea. O traveler! abiding not Where he pretends to be! [Illustration: THE MOON IS A DEVIL-JESTER VACHEL LINDSAY 1922] ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in her day. With Mary Pickford curls in clouds and whirls.) She was trying to think of something nice to say, So she pointed to a page by her fellow star and sage, And said: “I wish that _I_ could write that way!” [Illustration] SOME BALLOONS GROW ON TREES FOR BETSY RICHARDS Some balloons grow on trees, On rubber trees, indeed. You plant old rubber-boots for seed. Some balloons grow on trees. If you want them red, You pour red ink into the boots, There in the balloon bed, And blue ink if you want them blue. But if you desire them green, Just let it pass. They will turn green to match the grass. Some balloons grow on trees. And if you do not spray them soon With water-pots of hellebore You will not have One ripe balloon. Mosquitoes will bite them in the night Explode them like a thunder-storm And give the town a fright. [Illustration] Some balloons grow on trees. If they grow too fast And are not gathered every day The infants stand aghast To see them tear up by the roots The trees on which they grew And scatter dirt on the front walk And disappear from view Into the blue. BABYLON’S GARDENS ARE BURNING There, on the shores of the river Euphrates, Babylon’s gardens are burning this morning. Prophets warned, Prophets prophesied, But no one in Babylon heeded the warning. [Illustration: BABYLON’S GARDENS ARE BURNING VACHEL LINDSAY 1922] [Illustration] IN THE BEAUTY PARLORS