Classic Poem

Willows and willows in two gust-worn rows,
The fading sunset and the marsh between;
A road beneath where little pools lie keen
At twisted roots, and faint the late light glows.
The yellowing leaves flame down each wind that blows,
And choke the pools and heap the rushes lean.
Wheels rumble; up the road a cart is seen;
White in a whirl of dust it lumbering shows.
Eastward, beyond the wall of gust-worn trees,
A rotting boat drawn up among the reeds;
Creeks that past foggy alders blazing slip;
Salt scents; the stir of solitary bees;
A startled bird that shoreward clamoring speeds;
And leagues of water empty of a ship.