Page:The Collected Poems of Hart Crane.djvu/31

You were the first—before Ned and this farm, —
               First-born, remember—

And since then—all that’s left to me of Jim
  Whose folks, like mine, came out of Arrowhead.
And you’re the only one with eyes like him—
               Kentucky bred!

I’m standing still, I’m old, I’m half of stone!
  Oh, hold me in those eyes’engaging blue;
There’s where the stubborn years gleam and atone, —
               Where gold is true!

Down the dim turnpike to the river’s edge—
  Perhaps I’ll hear the mare’s hoofs to the ford…
Write me from Rio… and you’ll keep your pledge;
               I know your word!

Come back to Indiana—not too late!
  (Or will you be a ranger to the end?)
Good-bye… Good-bye… oh, I shall always wait
  You, Larry, traveller—
                              stranger,
                                             son,
                                                            —my friend—