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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348102" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>At The Ferry</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">On such a day the shrunken stream<br>Spends its last water and runs dry;<br>Clouds like far turrets in a dream<br>Stand baseless in the burning sky.<br>On such a day at every rod<br>The toilers in the hay-field halt,<br>With dripping brows, and the parched sod<br>Yields to the crushing foot like salt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But here a little wind astir,<br>Seen waterward in jetting lines,<br>From yonder hillside topped with fir<br>Comes pungent with the breath of pines;<br>And here when all the noon hangs still,<br>White-hot upon the city tiles,<br>A perfume and a wintry chill<br>Breathe from the yellow lumber-piles.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all day long there falls a blur<br>Of noises upon listless ears,<br>The rumble of the trams, the stir<br>Of barges at the clacking piers;<br>The champ of wheels, the crash of steam,<br>And ever, without change or stay,<br>The drone, as through a troubled dream,<br>Of waters falling far away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A tug-boat up the farther shore<br>Half pants, half whistles, in her draught;<br>The cadence of a creaking oar<br>Falls drowsily; a corded raft<br>Creeps slowly in the noonday gleam,<br>And wheresoe'er a shadow sleeps<br>The men lie by, or half a-dream,<br>Stand leaning at the idle sweeps.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all day long in the quiet bay<br>The eddying amber depths retard,<br>And hold, as in a ring, at play,<br>The heavy saw-logs notched and scarred;<br>And yonder between cape and shoal,<br>Where the long currents swing and shift,<br>An aged punt-man with his pole<br>Is searching in the parted drift.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At moments from the distant glare<br>The murmur of a railway steals<br>Round yonder jutting point the air<br>Is beaten with the puff of wheels;<br>And here at hand an open mill,<br>Strong clamor at perpetual drive,<br>With changing chant, now hoarse, now shrill,<br>Keeps dinning like a mighty hive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A furnace over field and mead,<br>The rounding noon hangs hard and white;<br>Into the gathering heats recede<br>The hollows of the Chelsea height;<br>But under all to one quiet tune,<br>A spirit in cool depths withdrawn,<br>With logs, and dust, and wrack bestrewn,<br>The stately river journeys on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I watch the swinging currents go<br>Far down to where, enclosed and piled,<br>The logs crowd, and the Gatineau<br>Comes rushing from the northern wild.<br>I see the long low point, where close<br>The shore-lines, and the waters end,<br>I watch the barges pass in rows<br>That vanish at the tapering bend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see as at the noon's pale core-<br>A shadow that lifts clear and floats-<br>The cabin'd village round the shore,<br>The landing and the fringe of boats;<br>Faint films of smoke that curl and wreathe,<br>And upward with the like desire<br>The vast gray church that seems to breathe<br>In heaven with its dreaming spire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there the last blue boundaries rise,<br>That guard within their compass furled<br>This plot of earth: beyond them lies<br>The mystery of the echoing world;<br>And still my thought goes on, and yields<br>New vision and new joy to me,<br>Far peopled hills, and ancient fields,<br>And cities by the crested sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see no more the barges pass,<br>Nor mark the ripple round the pier,<br>And all the uproar, mass on mass,<br>Falls dead upon a vacant ear.<br>Beyond the tumult of the mills,<br>And all the city's sound and strife,<br>Beyond the waste, beyond the hills,<br>I look far out and dream of life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Archibald+Lampman">Archibald Lampman</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348102" data-title="At The Ferry de Archibald Lampman" data-description="On such a day the shrunken stream
Spends its last water and runs dry;
Clouds like far turrets in a dream
Stand baseless in the burning sky.
On such a day at every rod
The toilers in the hay-field halt,
With dripping brows, and the parched sod
Yiel..."></div>
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