Far down, down through the city's great, gaunt gut The grey train rushing bears the weary wind; In the packed cars the fans the crowd's breath cut, Leaving the sick and heavy air behind. And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door To give their summer jackets to the breeze; Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas; Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift Through sleepy waters where gulls wheel and sweep, Waiting for windy waves their keels to lift Lightly among the islands of the deep; Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white That lend their perfume to the tropic sea, Where fields lie idle in the dew-drenched night, And the Trades float above them fresh and free. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DINNER IN A QUICK LUNCH ROOM by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST TO W.E.B. DUBOIS - SCHOLAR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LITTLE BROTHER'S STORY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD OCTAVES: 15 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO A DEAD MAN by CARL SANDBURG ADAM AND HIS FATHER by KAREN SWENSON HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 3. THAILALND by KAREN SWENSON |