Stephen Vincent Benet

(1898 - 1943 / Pennsylvania / United States)

Stephen Vincent Benet Poems

1. Nos Immortales 1/3/2003
2. The Falconer Of God 3/30/2010
3. Rain After A Vaudeville Show 1/3/2003
4. Three Day's Ride 3/30/2010
5. The Fiddling Wood 3/30/2010
6. Portrait Of A Boy 1/3/2003
7. The General Public 1/3/2003
8. The City Revisited 1/3/2003
9. Portrait Of A Baby 1/3/2003
10. The Innovator 1/3/2003
11. The Drug-Shop, Or, Endymion In Edmonstoun 1/3/2003
12. The Fiddling Wood 1/3/2003
13. Robert E. Lee 3/30/2010
14. The Congressmen Came Out To See Bull Run 3/30/2010
15. American Names 1/17/2015
16. The Ballad Of William Sycamore [1790-1871] 3/30/2010
17. The Hemp 1/3/2003
18. Road And Hills 1/3/2003
19. The White Peacock 1/3/2003
20. Winged Man 1/3/2003
21. Talk 1/3/2003
22. The Mountain Whippoorwill 3/7/2012
23. Campus Sonnets: May Morning 3/30/2010
24. The Quality Of Courage 1/3/2003
25. Young Blood 1/3/2003
26. Ghosts Of A Lunatic Asylum 3/30/2010
27. The Breaking Point 1/3/2003
28. The Lover In Hell 1/3/2003
29. Campus Sonnets: Before An Examination 3/30/2010
30. Alexander Vi Dines With The Cardinal Of Capua 1/3/2003
31. Campus Sonnets: Return - 1917 3/30/2010
32. Campus Sonnets: Talk 3/30/2010
33. Nightmare Number Three 3/30/2010
34. 1936 3/30/2010
35. Dedication 1/3/2003
36. Poor Devil! 1/3/2003
37. Army Of Northern Virginia 3/30/2010
38. Return - 1917 1/3/2003
39. Difference 3/30/2010
40. Before An Examination 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Stephen Vincent Benet

Colors

(For D. M. C.)

The little man with the vague beard and guise
Pulled at the wicket. "Come inside!" he said,
"I'll show you all we've got now -- it was size
You wanted? -- oh, dry colors! Well" -- he led
To a dim alley lined with musty bins,
And pulled one fiercely. Violent and bold
A sudden tempest of mad, shrieking sins
Scarlet screamed out above the battered gold
Of tins and picture-frames. I held my breath.
He tugged another hard -- and sapphire skies
Spread in vast quietude, serene as death,
O'er waves like crackled turquoise -- and my ...

Read the full of Colors

A Minor Poet

I am a shell. From me you shall not hear
The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,
The orbed gold of the viol's voice that comes,
Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.
Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,
A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,
The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,
The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.

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