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 EXECUTIVE by DAVID IGNATOW TO MY CLASS: ON CERTAIN FRUITS AND FLOWERS SENT ... SICKNESS by SIDNEY LANIER THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH by AMY LOWELL TO TWO UNKNOWN LADIES by AMY LOWELL VICTOR RAFOLSKI ON ART by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |