#CanadianWriters
Over the shoulders and slopes of t… I saw the white daisies go down to… A host in the sunshine, an army in… The people God sends us to set ou… The bobolinks rallied them up from…
HERE in lovely New England When summer is come, a sea-turn Flutters a page of remembrance In the volume of long ago. Soft is the wind over Grand Pré
I heard the spring wind whisper Above the brushwood fire, ‘The world is made forever Of transport and desire. ’I am the breath of being,
THOUGHT is a garden wide and ol… For airy creatures to explore, Where grow the great fantastic flo… With truth for honey at the core. There like a wild marauding bee
Harvard, 1914 SIR, friends, and scholars, we ar… A high occasion. Our New England… All her unrivalled beauty as of ol… And June, with scent of bayberry…
NOW the joys of the road are chie… A crimson touch on the hard-wood t… A vagrant’s morning wide and blue, In early fall, when the wind walks… A shadowy highway cool and brown,
ON the long slow heave of a lazy… To the flap of an idle sail, The Nancy’s Pride went out on the… And the skipper stood by the rail. All down, all down by the sleepy t…
NOW the fire is lighted On the chimney stone, Day goes down the valley, I am left alone. Now the misty purple
Where are the ships I used to kno… That came to port on the Fundy ti… Half a century ago, In beauty and stately pride? In they would come past the beacon…
When all the stars are sown Across the night-blue space, With the immense unknown, In silence face to face. We stand in speechless awe
ONCE more in misted April The world is growing green. Along the winding river The plumey willows lean. Beyond the sweeping meadows
When I was just a little boy, Before I went to school, I had a fleet of forty sail I called the Ships of Yule; Of every rig, from rakish brig
NOW is the time of year When all the flutes begin, ' The redwing bold and clear, The rainbird far and thin. In all the waking lands
In Memory of John Keats By the Aurelian Wall, Where the long shadows of the cent… From Caius Cestius’ tomb, A weary mortal seeking rest found…
OVER the wintry threshold Who comes with joy to-day, So frail, yet so enduring, To triumph o’er dismay? Ah, quick her tears are springing,