THE GRAND RIVER MARSHES
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ilvers and purples breathing in a skyOf fiery mid-days, like a watching tiger,Of the restrained but passionate JulyUpon the marshes of the river lie,Like the filmed pinions of the dragon fly. * * * * * A whole horizon's waste of rushes bendUnder the flapping of the breeze's wing,Departing and revisitingThe haunts of the river twisting without end. * * * * * The torsions of the river make long milesOf the waters of the river which remainCoiled by the village, tortuous aislesOf water between the rushes, which restrainThe bewildered currents in returning files,Twisting between the greens like a blue racer,Too hurt to leap with body or upliftIts head while gliding, neither slow nor swift * * * * * Against the shaggy yellows of the dunesThe iron bridge's reticulesAre seen by fishermen from the Damascened lagoons.But from the bridge, watching the little steamerPaddling against the current up to Eastmanville,The river loosened from the abandoned spoolsOf earth and heaven wanders without will,Between the rushes, like a silken streamer.And two old men who turn the bridgeFor passing boats sit in the sun all day,Toothless and sleepy, ancient river dogs,And smoke and talk of a glory passed away.And of the ruthless sacrilegeWhich mowed away the pines,And cast them in the current here as logs,To be devoured by the mills to the last sliver,Making for a little hour heroes and heroines,Dancing and laughter at Grand Haven,When the great saws sent screeches up and whines,And cries for more and moreSlaughter of forests up and down the riverAnd along the lake's shore. * * * * * But all is quiet on the river nowAs when the snow lay windless in the wood,And the last Indian stoodAnd looked to find the broken boughThat told the path under the snow.All is as silent as the spiral lightsOf purple and of gold that from the marshes rise,Like the wings of swarming dragon flies,Far up toward Eastmanville, where the enclosing skiesQuiver with heat; as silent as the flightsOf the crow like smoke from shops against the glareOf dunes and purple air,There where Grand Haven against the sand hill lies. * * * * * The forests and the mills are gone!All is as silent as the voice I heardOn a summer dawnWhen we two fished among the river reeds.As silent as the painIn a heart that feedsA sorrow, but does not complain.As silent as above the bridge in this July,Noiseless, far up in this mirror-lighted skyWheels aimlessly a hydroplane:A man-bestridden dragon fly!
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