Classic Poem

I

Summer Evening

The black sloop at anchor
has a light in the rigging;
the waters of the river
twinkle;
the stars spring up
on the smooth twilight;
row after row,
the street lamps burst into light.

II

The branches,
sloping towards each other,
sway in the wind;
the leaves quiver
in the rain;
flashing when the lightning flashes,
drops of rain
become falling sparks.

III

Desert

The swift river, foaming into waves,
waves bursting into foam,
mile after mile,
under a windless and unclouded sky;
not a beast or bird,
neither tree nor bush, no weed or grass:
a plain of white sand
on which are scattered
black stones and boulders,
or ledge on ledge
rising in barren cliffs.

IV

The water is freezing in straight lines across the ripples;
the ice is so thin the brown leaves
are seen moving along underneath;
the wheels of the automobiles hiss
on the wet pavement;
the bridge has become only a few lines in pencil
on the grey sky —
even lines made by rule and compass.

The street curves in and out, up and down
in great waves of asphalt;
at night the granite tomb is noisy with starlings
like the creaking of many axles;
only the tired walker knows how much there is to climb,
how the sidewalk curves into the cold wind.