In an old print I see a thicket of masts on the river. But in the prints to be There will be lake boats, With port holes, funnels, rows of decks, Huddled like swans by the docks, Under the shadows of cliffs of brick. And who will know from the prints to be, When the Albatross and the Golden Eagle, The flying craft which shall carry the vision Of impatient lovers wounded by Spring To the shaded rivers of Michigan, That it was the Missouri, the Iowa, And the City of Benton Harbor Which lay huddled like swans by the docks? You are not Lake Leman, Walled in by Mt. Blanc. One sees the whole world round you, And beyond you, Lake Michigan. And when the melodious winds of March Wrinkle you and drive on the shore The serpent rifts of sand and snow, And sway the giant limbs of oaks, Longing to bud, The boats put forth for the ports that began to stir, With the creak of reels unwinding the nets, And the ring of the caulking wedge. But in the June days—      The Alabama ploughs through liquid tons Of sapphire waves. She sinks from hills to valleys of water, And rises again, Like a swimming gull! I wish a hundred years to come, and forever All lovers could know the rapture      Of the lake boats sailing the first Spring days To coverts of hepatica, With the whole world sphering round you, And the whole of the sky beyond you. I knew the captain of the City of Grand Rapids. He had sailed the seas as a boy. And he stood on deck against the railing Puffing a cigar, Showing in his eyes the cinema flash of the sun on the waves. It was June and life was easy. ... One could lie on deck and sleep, Or sit in the sun and dream. People were walking the decks and talking, Children were singing. And down on the purser's deck A man was dancing by himself, Whirling around like a dervish. And this captain said to me:      "No life is better than this. I could live forever, And do nothing but run this boat From the dock at Chicago to the dock at Holland And back again."       One time I went to Grand Haven On the Alabama with Charley Shippey. It was dawn, but white dawn only, Under the reign of Leucothea, As we volplaned, so it seemed, from the lake Past the lighthouse into the river. And afterward laughing and talking Hurried to Van Dreezer's restaurant For breakfast.      (Charley knew him and talked of things Unknown to me as he cooked the breakfast.)      Then we fished the mile's length of the pier In a 

 Prev. P 11/125 next