At last the air fragrant, the bird's bubbling whistle <br />Succinct in the unknown unsettled trees: <br />O little Charles, beside the Georgian colleges <br />And milltown New England; at last the wind soft, <br />The sky unmoving, and the dead look <br />Of factory windows separate, at last, <br />From windows gray and wet: <br /> for now the sunlight <br />Thrashes its wet shellac on brickwalk and gutter, <br />White splinters streak midmorning and doorstep, <br />Winter passes as the lighted streetcar <br />Moves at midnight, one scene of the past, <br />Droll and unreal, stiff, stilted and hooded.<br /><br />Delmore Schwartz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cambridge-spring-1937/
