THE RIVER FLOWS
By JOHN GOULD FLETCHER
EMERGING with the daybreak,
Drifting in silence down a sluggish river,
Between two banks dividing
Which held the summer between them firm forever,
I saw the cottonwoods
Receding southwards,
The arms of the cypress
Touch the horizon,
The great white pelicans
Far away, beating and fluttering their outstretched wings.
Drifting in silence down a sluggish river,
Between two banks dividing
Which held the summer between them firm forever,
I saw the cottonwoods
Receding southwards,
The arms of the cypress
Touch the horizon,
The great white pelicans
Far away, beating and fluttering their outstretched wings.
At Cairo, the ranks of the corn stood up like a plumed immortal army,
We drifted on in a sunset of rosy heat.
There was a flatboat hanging alongside laden with green melons,
A passion-flower vine upon a whitewashed wall.
We drifted on in a sunset of rosy heat.
There was a flatboat hanging alongside laden with green melons,
A passion-flower vine upon a whitewashed wall.
At St. Louis we waited all morning with the roar of the trucks cutting across the cobbles,
The river swirling through the great arches of the bridge above us,
The mules flicking their ears against the flies.
The river swirling through the great arches of the bridge above us,
The mules flicking their ears against the flies.
Vicksburg of yellow bluffs, Natchez of tumbling houses—
The low banks we felt for in the darkness.
The low banks we felt for in the darkness.
At New Orleans we tied to the levee in the quiet of early morning,
We wakened to see the city washed clean by colorless daylight;
City once seen in midwinter glory, now drowsing in torrid silence.
We wakened to see the city washed clean by colorless daylight;
City once seen in midwinter glory, now drowsing in torrid silence.
