East River’s Charm

Is this the river East I heard?—

Where the ferries, tugs and sailboats stirred

And the reaching wharves from the inner land

Ourstretched, like the harmless receiving hand—

 

And the silvery tinge that sparkles aloud

Like the brilliant white demons, which a tide has towed

From the rays of the morning sun

Which it doth ceaselessly shine upon.

 

But look at the depth of the drippling tide

The dripples, reripples like the locusts astride;

As the boat turns upon the silvery spread

It leaves—strange—a shadow dead.

 

And the very charms from the reflective river

And from the stacks of the floating boat—

There seemeth the quality ne’er to dissever

Like the ruffles from the mystified smoke.