American poet (1898-1943)
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"Winged Man", Young Adventure
If I came to the bed where you lay sick and in fever,
I would not come with little tight-fisted flowers
But with the white heron's plume that lay in the forest
Till it was cooler than sleep.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
John Brown's Body
For those slain at once.
For those living through the months and years
Enduring, watching, hoping, going each day
To the work or the queue for meat or the secret club,
Living meanwhile, begetting children, smuggling guns,
And found and killed at the end like rats in a drain.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"Litany for Dictatorships", Young Adventure
Lust is a sprightly servant,
Gallant where wines are poured;
Love is a bitter master,
Love is an iron lord.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
Young Adventure
He shall not come to conquest,
The conquest of kings,
But in the bare stable
He shall judge all things.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
A Child is Born
We heard the shots in the night
But nobody knew next day what the trouble was
And a man must go to his work.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"Litany for Dictatorships", Young Adventure
It is not given me to trace
The lovely laughter of that face,
Like a clear brook most full of light,
Or olives swaying on a height,
So silver they have wings, almost;
Like a great word once known and lost
And meaning all things.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"The Quality of Courage"
Oh, Georgia booze is mighty fine booze,
The best yuh ever poured yuh,
But it eats the soles right offen yore shoes,
For Hell's broke loose in Georgia.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"The Mountain Whippoorwill"
My people are the Hill People. They are the men.
I go into the Dead Places but I am not slain.
I take the metal from the Dead Places but I am not blasted.
I travel upon the god-roads and am not afraid.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
By the Waters of Babylon
The ages crumble down like dust,
Dark roses, deviously thrust
And scattered in sweet wine -- but I,
I shall lift up to you my cry,
And kiss your wet lips presently
Beneath the ever-living Tree.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"The Quality of Courage", Young Adventure
It won't be till each one of us is willing,
Not you, not me, but every one of us,
To hang upon a cross for every man
Who suffers, starves and dies,
Fight his sore battles as they were our own,
And help him from the darkness and the mire,
That there will be no crosses and no tyrants,
No Herods and no slaves.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
A Child is Born
Yes, Dan'l Webster's dead -- or, at least, they buried him. But every time there's a thunderstorm around Marshfield, they say you can hear his rolling voice in the hollows of the sky. And they say that if you go to his grave and speak loud and clear, "Dan'l Webster -- Dan'l Webster!" the ground'll begin to shiver and the trees begin to shake. And after a while you'll hear a deep voice saying, "Neighbor, how stands the Union?" Then you better answer the Union stands as she stood, rock-bottomed and copper-sheathed, one and indivisible, or he's liable to rear right out of the ground. At least, that's what I was told when I was a youngster.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
The Devil and Daniel Webster
I call the brave to the battle-line, I call the sane to the council -- I call the free millions of earth to the century ahead -- the century of the common man, established by you, the people. For this world cannot endure, half slave and half free.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
Toward the Century of the Common Man
For Liberty can be lost by the practical men whose hearts are too shrunken to contain it. Liberty can be bartered away by the greedy minds who cannot see beyond their own day. Liberty can be stolen away by the robber and the brute. But Liberty grows like grass in the hearts of the common people, from the blood of their martyrs. And the tyrants rage and are gone, but the dream and the deed endure.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
Toward the Century of the Common Man
Black trees against an orange sky,
Trees that the wind shook terribly,
Like a harsh spume along the road,
Quavering up like withered arms,
Writhing like streams, like twisted charms
Of hot lead flung in snow. Below
The iron ice stung like a goad,
Slashing the torn shoes from my feet,
And all the air was bitter sleet.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"The Quality of Courage", Young Adventure
The fight was done. Even gods tire of fighting.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"The Quality of Courage", Young Adventure
There was no pain when I awoke,
No pain at all. Rest, like a goad,
Spurred my eyes open -- and light broke
Upon them like a million swords:
And she was there. There are no words.
Heaven is for a moment's span.
And ever.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"The Quality of Courage", Young Adventure
For the cold of the pistol-butt and the bullet's heat,
For the ropes that choke, the manacles that bind,
The huge voice, metal, that lies from a thousand tubes
And the stuttering machine-gun that answers all.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"Litany for Dictatorships", Young Adventure
For Lethe is for no man set,
And in Hell may no man forget.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
"The Quality of Courage", Young Adventure
Why have you taken my heart from me?
I am not justice nor loyalty.
I am the shape of the weathercock,
That all winds come to and all winds mock.
You are the image of the sea-carved stone,
The silent thing that can suffer alone,
The little women are easier,
The easy women make lighter love,
I will not take your face to war,
I will not carry your cast-off glove.
STEPHEN VINCENT BENÉT
John Brown's Body