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...NOCTURNE OF REMEMBERED SPRING by CONRAD AIKEN ALMANACH DU PRINTEMPS VIVAROIS by HAYDEN CARRUTH OVID, OLD BUDDY, I WOULD DISCOURSE WITH YOU A WHILE by HAYDEN CARRUTH KEEPING UP WITH THE SIGNS by MADELINE DEFREES ON TALK OF PEACE AT THIS TIME by ROBERT FROST ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |