Hushed in the smoky haze of summer sunset, When I came home again from far-off places, How many times I saw my western city Dream by her river.
Then for an hour the water wore a mantle Of tawny gold and mauve and misted turquoise Under the tall and darkened arches bearing Gray, high-flung bridges.
Against the sunset, water-towers and steeples Flickered with fire up the slope to westward, And old warehouses poured their purple shadows Across the levee.
High over them the black train swept with thunder, Cleaving the city, leaving far beneath it Wharf-boats moored beside the old side-wheelers Resting in twilight.
