Ferries never go to sea like the steamers That are frilled with soft smoke, that curtsey to the town, And turn towards Spain with a stir of lacy streamers -- For all of that, a ferry, cracked and brown And wistful as an old shoe, though it only scuttles Over a steel river worn to rusty red, Is the same as any steamer if you say that both are shuttles On one enormous loom, but with different lengths of thread. Steamers' wakes are fine-spun silk, moon-spotted And sun-striped, unrolling over spools of clear blue glass; And ferries' tracks, as coarse as hemp, and clotted With the grit of minutes, jerk through tarnished brass. This is a heavy cloth they weave with horror, pity, Tenderness and courage in every sagging seam -- Yet in the dusk it falls across a tired city In plaids of gold and silver, lighter than a dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AUDACIOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IF HE SHOULD COME by EDWIN MARKHAM BLACK EAGLE RETURNS TO ST. JOE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SANTA FE SKETCHES by CARL SANDBURG BEFORE THE FLOWERS OF FRIENDSHIP FADED FADED: 21 by GERTRUDE STEIN |