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Claude McKay - On a Primitive Canoe
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Here, passing lonely down this quiet lane, 
Before a mud-splashed window long I pause 
To gaze and gaze, while through my active brain 
Still thoughts are stirred to wakefulness; because 
Long, long ago in a dim unknown land, 
A massive forest-tree, ax-felled, adze-hewn, 
Was deftly done by cunning mortal hand 
Into a symbol of the tender moon. 
Why does it thrill more than the handsome boat 
That bore me o`er the wild Atlantic ways, 
And fill me with rare sense of things remote 
From this harsh land of fretful nights and days? 
I cannot answer but, whate`er it be, 
An old wine has intoxicated me.
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