The Cranes of Ibicus

Here was a man who watched the river flow

Past the huge town, one gray November day.

Round him in narrow high-piled streets at play

The boys made merry as they saw him go,

Murmuring half-loud, with eyes upon the stream,

The immortal screed he held within his hand.

For he was walking in an April land

With Faust and Helen. Shadowy as a dream

Was the prose-world, the river and the town.

Wild joy possessed him; through enchanted skies

He saw the cranes of Ibycus swoop down.

He closed the page, he lifted up his eyes,

Lo--a black line of birds in wavering thread

Bore him the greetings of the deathless dead!