OF marsh-mallows my boat is made, The ropes are lily-roots. The pole-star is athwart the sky: The moon sinks low. It's at the ferry I'm plucking lilies, But it might be the Yellow River -- So afraid you seem of the wind and waves, So long you tarry at the crossing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ADORATION OF DISK BY KING AKHNATEN AND PRINCESS NEFER NEFERIU ATEN by AKHENATEN COMMUNION by DOROTHY P. ALBAUGH THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY by BERNARD OF CLUNY ON A VIOLA D'AMORE by MATHILDE BLIND FAMILIARITY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE LAMENT OF THE OUTALISSI by THOMAS CAMPBELL |