The calloused grass lies hard Against the cracking plain: Life is a grayish stain; The salt-marsh hems my yard. Dry dikes rise hill on hill; In sloughs of tidal slime Shellfish deposit lime, Wild seafowl creep at will. The highway, like a beach, Turns whiter, shadowy, dry: Loud, pale against the sky, The bombing planes hold speech. Yet fruit grows on the trees; Here scholars pause to speak; Through gardens bare and Greek I hear my neighbor's bees.