Classic Poem

The brass band plays upon your decks,
Like a sturdy harlot aping mirth,
And people in starched shields
Stuff their passions with sweet words.
Life is swishing in the air
Like a tipsy, hungry bridegroom.
The smoke from your tall stacks
Is bitter wine to the summer afternoon
Grown weary of wafers and roses,
And your churning paddles
Beat the dainty whiteness of foam
From dirty river water.

O humbly moaning river boat,
Take the pressing water and the sun
As one who plays with his own chains
And flings their homely turmoil to the sky.
Only a voice can leap above high walls.