As I drift in my boat on the harbor, in the calm of the summer night,
The moon in the arms of the crescent floods all with its misty light.
The water reflects the moonbeams in a wavy, twisted band,
Like a mirror of polished metal from some distant Eastern land.
No sound but the click of the rowlock, and the measured dip of an oar,
And the lisping plash of the ripples, as they break on the western shore.
-Dexter Carlton Washburn