PANAMA: THREE PICTURES by HAROLD WILLARD GLEASON

FROM out of the sultry sky the great moon beams:
Below lie forest, jungle, fern and brake,
Broad tangled stretches unessayed by man;
Great stagnant pools with fever-laden breath;
Untrodden ways, where glide strange deadly snakes;
And giant trees, whereon, like errant souls,
Shine ghostly orchids' phosphorescent gleams.
A dead twig snaps: vast clouds of birds arise
From out the marshes' depths, with screaming shrill.
The screaming fades; remains a heavy drone
Of countless insects, ministers of death;
And heat, oppressive, dread, hangs over all.

From out the sultry sky the great moon beams:
The jungle has to chaos given place.
Where once the foetid forest's marshes stood
Great eery shapes now rise against the sky,
Like monsters of a prehistoric age;
Tall cranes and derricks, dredgers, heaps of stone,
The signs of sturdy, progress-loving man.
The pools remain; the insects' drone is hushed;
To other, denser wilds the birds have flown,
While twinkling lights mark rows of tiny homes
Where rest the pioneers of Panama:
And heat, oppressive, dread, hangs over all.

From out the sultry sky the great moon beams:
Soft falls the moonlight, on the Gatun Lock,
Culebra's channel, and the spotless sides,
The white stone structure of the Great Canal.
Anon, with lights ablaze, huge steamships glide,
Like monsters crawling, through the tropic night,
Envoys of nations, spreading world-wide peace.
Where death once lurked, all now is life and joy;
For Goethal's guiding hand has put to flight
Disease, and all that made a heaven hell
At that fair spot, the Juncture of the Seas:
And rest, refreshing rest, hangs over all.

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