SUNSET, BAR HARBOR

 

Now piping down the setting of the sun,

The man in kilts and leather jacket stands

By Frenchman’s Bay upon a floating dock,

Facing the birth of evening; his black hair

Tied back; his face averted from the crowd

That gathers on the quay. He concentrates

Upon the music flowing like sea tides

Through all the ears within his sphere of sound;

Through all the islands, all the granite tors

That overlook Bar Harbor and beyond.

The sun descends behind a hill, and casts

Its shivering light beams upon a shaft

Across the waters to the piper’s feet,

And bathes with glory all his orphic form.