Far from the Rappahannock, the silent
The brown and green
Like the Niagara's welling descent.
Tractors stood on the green banks of the Loire
Near where it joined the
The St. Lawrence prods among black stones
And mud. But the
Wind ruffles the
Surface. The Irawaddy is overflowing.
But the yellowish, gray
Is contained within steep banks. The Isar
Flows too fast to swim in, the
Courses over the flat land. The Allegheny and its boats
Were dark blue. The Moskowa is
Gray boats. The Amstel flows slowly.
Leaves fall into the
Underneath. The Liffey is full of sewage,
Like the Seine, but unlike
The brownish-yellow
Mountains hem in the
And the Oder is very deep, almost
As deep as the
The plain banks of the
Gray. The dark Saône flows silently.
And the
As it flows across the brownish land. The
Is blue, and slow. The
Swiftly between its banks. The
Is one of the world's longest rivers, like the Amazon.
It has the
The
And buildings. The Nelson is in
Flowing. Through hard banks the
Forces its way. People walk near the
The landscape around the Mohawk stretches away;
The Rubicon is merely a brook.
In winter the Main
Surges; the
The Rhône slogs along through whitish banks
And the
The
But the Moldau's wet mud ensnares it.
The East catches the light.
Near the Escaut the noise of factories echoes
And the sinuous Humboldt gurgles wildly.
The Po too flows, and the many-colored
Pours the
On the Housatonic, but quite a few can be seen
On the
The Afton has flowed.
If the Rio Negro
Could abandon its song, and the Magdalena
The jungle flowers, the Tagus
Would still flow serenely, and the
Abrade its slate banks. The tan
Sidle silently across the world. The
Was choked with ice, but the Susquehanna still pushed
Bravely along. The Dee caught the day's last flares
Like the
The Peace offered eternal fragrance
Perhaps, but the Mackenzie churned livid mud
Like tan chalk-marks. Near where
The Brahmaputra slapped swollen dikes
And the
Skulks amid gray, rubbery nettles. The Liard's
Reflexes are slow, and the
Anthracite hummocks. The Paraná stinks.
The
Among grays. Better that the
In steaming sands! Let the
Freeze solid! And the
Cinder of ice! The Marañón is too tepid, we must
Find a way to freeze it hard. The Ural
Is freezing slowly in the blasts. The black Yonne
Congeals nicely. And the Petit-Morin
Curls up on the solid earth. The Inn
Does not remember better times, and the
Galvanized. The
The Vyatka's ice-gray. The once-molten
Curdled. The Japurá is a pack of ice. Gelid
The Columbia's gray loam banks. The Don's merely
A giant icicle. The
The interminable
But the Purus' mercurial waters are icy, grim
With cold. The Loing is choked with fragments of ice.
The
And so is the
The stern
A mass of ice. The
Ice. The
The lovely
Like the Yellowstone, with its osier-clustered banks.
The Mekong is beginning to thaw out a little
And the
Huge blocks of ice. The Manzanares gushes free.
The
But the
The Salado propels irs floes, but the
Frozen. The
Than the Somme. The
In winter, nor does the Snake
Remember August. Hilarious, the Canadian
Is solid ice. The
Across the thawing fields, and the Plata laughs.
The
Temperature is above freezing. The
Carols noiselessly. The Drôme presses
Grass banks; the
Surface is like gray pebbles.
Birds circle the
The Var was dark blue, unfrozen. The
Thwaite, cold, is choked with sandy ice;
The Ardèche glistens feebly through the freezing rain.
Into the Dusk charged air
John Ashbery
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