Springfield Magical

By Vachel Lindsay

In this, the City of my Discontent,

Sometimes there comes a whisper from the grass,

“Romance, Romance — is here. No Hindu town

Is quite so strange. No Citadel of Brass

By Sinbad found, held half such love and hate;

No picture-palace in a picture-book

Such webs of Friendship, Beauty, Greed and Fate!”

In this, the City of my Discontent,

Down from the sky, up from the smoking deep

Wild legends new and old burn round my bed

While trees and grass and men are wrapped in sleep.

Angels come down, with Christmas in their hearts,

Gentle, whimsical, laughing, heaven-sent;

And, for a day, fair Peace have given me

In this, the City of my Discontent!