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.
The Drunkards In The Street
Vachel Lindsay
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Poem topics: away, dream, feel, heart, space, time, soul, great, spirit, street, divine, god, night, wind, white, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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