The lonely bridge cuts dark across the marsh

Whose long pools glow with the light

Of a flaring summer sunset.

At this end limp bushes overhang,

Palely reflected in the amber-colored water;

Among them a constant banjo-twanging of frogs,

And shrilling of toads and of insects

Rises and falls in chorus rhythmic and stirring.

Dark, with crumbling railing and planks,

The bridge leads into the sunset.

Across it many lonely figures,

Their eyes a-flare with the sunset,

Their faces glowing with its colors,

Tramp past me through the evening.

I am tired of sitting quiet

Among the bushes of the shore,

While the dark bridge stretches onward,

And the long pools gleam with light;

I am tired of the shrilling of insects

And the croaking of frogs in the rushes,

For the wild rice in the marsh-pools

Waves its beckoning streamers in the wind,

And the red sky-glory fades.