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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509092" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Machine</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509092" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The little biplane that has the river-meadow for landing-field<br>And carries passengers brief rides,<br>Buzzed overhead on the tender blue above the orange of sundown.<br>Below it five troubled night-herons<br>Turned short over the shore from its course, four east, one northward.<br> Beyond them<br>Swam the new moon in amber.<br>I don't know why, but lately the forms of things appear to me with time<br>One of their visible dimensions.<br>The thread brightness of the bent moon appeared enormous, unnumbered<br>Ages of years; the night-herons<br>Their natural size, they have croaked over the shore in the hush at sundown<br>Much longer than human language<br>Has fumbled with the air: but the plane having no past but a certain future,<br>Insect in size as in form,<br>Was also accepted, all these forms of power placed without preference<br>In the grave arrangement of the evening.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=509092" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Submitted by Holt</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robinson+Jeffers">Robinson Jeffers</a></strong></div>