A vein of flame, the long creek crawls

Beneath dark brows of woodland walls,

Red where the sunset's crimson falls.

One wiry leg drawn to his breast,

Neck-shrunk, at solitary rest,

The heron stands among the bars.

The whimpering creek breaks on the stone,

Where for a while the new moon shone

With one white star and one alone.

Lank haunter of lone marshy lands

The melancholy heron stands,

Then, clamoring, dives into the stars.