Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/63
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There is a silence I have achieved—I have walked beyond its threshold.
I know it is without horizons, boundless, fathomless, perfect.
And some day maybe, far away,
I shall curl up in it at last and sleep an endless sleep.
I know it is without horizons, boundless, fathomless, perfect.
And some day maybe, far away,
I shall curl up in it at last and sleep an endless sleep.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseJohn Gould Fletcher
THE STEVEDORES
Frieze of warm bronze that glides with cat-like movements
Over the gang-plank poised and yet awaiting,
The sinewy thudding rhythms of forty shuffling feet
Falling like muffled drum-beats on the stillness:
Over the gang-plank poised and yet awaiting,
The sinewy thudding rhythms of forty shuffling feet
Falling like muffled drum-beats on the stillness:
Oh, roll the cotton down—
Roll, roll, the cotton down!
From the further side of Jordan,
Oh, roll the cotton down!
Roll, roll, the cotton down!
From the further side of Jordan,
Oh, roll the cotton down!
And the river waits,
The river listens,
Chuckling with little banjo-notes that break with a plop on the stillness.
And by the low dark shed that holds the heavy freights,
Two lonely cypress trees stand up and point with stiffened fingers
Far southward where a single chimney stands aloof in the sky.
The river listens,
Chuckling with little banjo-notes that break with a plop on the stillness.
And by the low dark shed that holds the heavy freights,
Two lonely cypress trees stand up and point with stiffened fingers
Far southward where a single chimney stands aloof in the sky.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseJohn Gould Fletcher
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