Classic Poem

A vivid hardened ocean,
A rough arrested sea,
On its imagined motion
Had so conjured me
That I was the only one not dead. . . .
Till, slowly up a wave ahead,
With a moon of a hat to know him by
And a wizard's blanket marked with red,
And his toes outswung from a burro,
Arose a man more thorough
In the uses of magic than I;
And he sang a song, and he sang it still
When, shaking like heat to the top of the hill,
He vanished through the open light
Out of the desert, out of sight,
Into the solid sky.