Harbor Night

Even the gulls grow tired when day is ending And the young stevedores’ last weary cries Drift over the harbor in forgotten music And the new tide comes in with quickening sighs.

Eyelids of lanterns like slow fireflies flutter Along the silent pier, and whippoorwill From drowsy willow trees across the river Strike one high note and hold it, stubborn and shrill.

Like an old drunken seaman now the sun Deserting the harbor pockets his gold and goes To some far salty tavern beyond the night, A tavern whose dark address nobody knows.