Down this white-hot avenue
In a grayish-silver haze,
I am driving under blue
And brilliant centuries of days;
And a south wind blows and blows,
Tosses the crepe-myrtle trees
White and mauve and pink and rose,
Blows the pollen and the bees;
Where the paving-lines converge
In their clot of blazing mist,
Where the sky and city merge,
Is the point where I exist.
In a grayish-silver haze,
I am driving under blue
And brilliant centuries of days;
And a south wind blows and blows,
Tosses the crepe-myrtle trees
White and mauve and pink and rose,
Blows the pollen and the bees;
Where the paving-lines converge
In their clot of blazing mist,
Where the sky and city merge,
Is the point where I exist.
