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1879–1931

The Drunkards in the Street

Vachel Lindsay

The Drunkards in the street are calling one another, Heeding not the night-wind, great of heart and gay,— Publicans and wantons — Calling, laughing, calling,

While the Spirit bloweth Space and Time away. Why should I feel the sobbing, the secrecy, the glory, This comforter, this fitful wind divine? I the cautious Pharisee, the scribe, the whited sepulchre —

I have no right to God, he is not mine. Within their gutters, drunkards dream of Hell. I say my prayers by my white bed to-night, With the arms of God about me, with the angels singing, singing

Until the grayness of my soul grows white.

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The Drunkards in the Street · Vachel Lindsay · Poetry Cove