I've always loved this one of Francis, which I have on a signed framed broadside back in Boston:
Old Poet
Once again in spring he comes drifting down
Into the summer-tourist traffic lanes--
Half ghost, half natural phenomenon.
And women from glassed decks observe him pass
(As he moves south and they move faster east)
Through telescope, field glass, or opera glass.
His unprogressive progress makes them stare.
A little cool he seems and sinister.
White, utterly white, his bardic beard and hair.
A wanderer so far from his arctic mist,
Mortal and fated and melting as he must--
The wonder is, the wonder is, how long he will persist.
--Robert Francis
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