The dim-winged spirits of the night
Do fear and serve me well.
They creep from out the hedges of
The garden where I dwell.
I wave my arms across the walk.
The troops obey the sign,
And bring me shimmering shadow-robes
And cups of cowslip-wine.
Then dig a treasure called the moon,
A very precious thing,
And keep it in the air for me
Because I am a King.
What The Scare-crow Said
Vachel Lindsay
(1)
Poem topics: fear, moon, night, walk, shadow, king, garden, bring, treasure, precious, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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