Long fingers of airy dust
That cling to your whiskers, now
Cling to your cuff
And hang in the soft, moist air.
Summer's very evening snore
Light blue horizon, soft and sweet
And the pulled feet of the men going there
Now down to the yonder, callous town
Below the painted women's frown,
Lit alleyways of yellow tinge,
While their boats slip a resounding sound
With you his friend, now end to end,
They'll descend one morning
Down within the callous town.