It is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court-house pacing up and down.
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I just figured out I have a copy of this poem in his hand addressed to a Mrs.J. cameron bradley of boston dated march/2/1915...I never new
Reminds me of The Ghost Train of Abraham Lincoln, when Lincoln's body was being transported in state across America by train, before being laid to rest, after his assassination. There is a subject for a haunting poem. anyone up for the challenge. The legends and circumstances are alluring.
This poem can be read, in his own handwriting, on the sign in front of Vachel Lindsay's home in Springfield, Illinois. The home is open to the public on most Saturdays.
THIS JAWN SUCKED IT WAS BIG BAD BRO