<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head"> Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight </h1><h1 align="center" class="head">(<span class="smallcaps">In Springfield, Illinois</span>)</h1><div class="stanza"><p class="line"><span class="smallcaps">It</span> is portentous, and a thing of state</p><p class="line">That here at midnight, in our little town,</p><p class="line">A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,</p><p class="line">Near the old court-house pacing up and down.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards</p><p class="line">He lingers where his children used to play;</p><p class="line">Or through the market, on the well-worn stones</p><p class="line">He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,</p><p class="line">A famous high top-hat and plain worn shawl</p><p class="line">Make him the quaint great figure that men love,</p><p class="line">The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">He cannot sleep upon his hillside now.</p><p class="line">He is among us: -- as in times before!</p><p class="line">And we who toss and lie awake for long</p><p class="line">Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings.</p><p class="line">Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep?</p><p class="line">Too many peasants fight, they know not why,</p><p class="line">Too many homesteads in black terror weep.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.</p><p class="line">He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main.</p><p class="line">He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now</p><p class="line">The bitterness, the folly, and the pain.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn</p><p class="line">Shall come; -- the shining hope of Europe free:</p><p class="line">The league of sober folk, the Workers' Earth</p><p class="line">Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp, and Sea.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">It breaks his heart that kings must murder still,</p><p class="line">That all his hours of travail here for men</p><p class="line">Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace</p><p class="line">That he may sleep upon his hill again?</p></div><p class="byline">Vachel Lindsay</p></body></html> · Great War