The south-bound geese sail honking past, Dark-patterned on the gray, While willows lift their torches up To guide them on their way. Beneath them lie the sallow sloughs; They neither see nor care That once their nestlings there were fed, Young galleons of the air. Far in the jagged teeth of hills That cut the sky at last A fragile wreath of purple smoke Goes drifting slowly past. Across the primrose of the west A smouldering sunset burns Where daylight's pallid ashes lie Enshrined in golden urns. The geese stream on, in prow-shaped flight And honk a hoarse, "Goodbye!" While darkness falls, they still sail on, Grim boatmen of the sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW JOY (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO MARY CHURCH TERRELL - LECTURER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 2. LOS CIGARILLOS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON LA RONDE DU DIABLE by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: ANTON SOSNOWSKI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TOWARD THE GULF; DEDICATED TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |