John Gould Fletcher

From “Down the Mississippi”

FRIEZE of warm bronze that glides with cat-like movements

Over the gang-plank poised and yet awaiting,

The sinewy thudding rhythms of forty shuffling feet

Falling like muffled drum-beats on the stillness:

Oh, roll the cotton down—

Roll, roll, the cotton down!

From the further side of Jordan,

Oh, roll the cotton down!

And the river waits,

The river listens,

Chuckling with little banjo-notes that break with a plop on the stillness.

And by the low dark shed that holds the heavy freights,

Two lonely cypress trees stand up and point with stiffened fingers

Far southward where a single chimney stands aloof in the sky.