#CanadianWriters
(Sappho XXIII) I loved thee, Atthis, in the long… When the great oleanders were in f… In the broad herded meadows full o… And we would often at the fall of…
TO the assembled folk At great St. Kavin’s spoke Young Brother Amiel on Christmas… I give you joy, my friends, That as the round year ends,
AH, Pierrot, Where is thy Columbine? What vandal could untwine That gay rose-rope of thine, And spill thy joy like wine,
SHIPMATE, leave the ghostly sh… Where thy boon companions throng! We will put to sea together Through the twilight with a song. Leering closer, rank and girding,
Wind of the dead men’s feet, Blow down the empty street Of this old city by the sea With news for me! Blow me beyond the grime
ABOVE the weary waiting world, Asleep in chill despair, There breaks a sound of joyous bel… Upon the frosted air. And o’er the humblest rooftree, lo…
WHEN you hear the white-throat p… From a tree-top far away, And the hills are touched with pur… At the borders of the day; When the redwing sounds his whistl…
O all the little rivers that run t… They call me and call me to follow… Missinaibi, Abitibi, Little Curr… Dancing and sparkling I see them… I hear the brawling rapid, the thu…
Over the hills of April With soft winds hand in hand, Impassionate and dreamy-eyed, Spring leads her saraband. Her garments float and gather
WHEN the first silent frost has… The ghost-yard of the goldenrod, And laid the blight of his cold ha… Upon the warm autumnal land, And all things wait the subtle cha…
To T. B. M. IN the crowd that thronged the pi… For new ventures in seafaring, whe… And we swung out in the current, w… ‘Midst the waving caps and kisses,…
HERE we came when love was young… Now that love is old, Shall we leave the floor unswept And the hearth acold? Here the hill-wind in the dusk,
I thank thee, Earth, for water go… The sea’s great bath of buoyant gr… Or the cold mountain torrent’s flo… That I may keep this body clean. I thank thee more for goodly wine,
Time out of mind I have stood Fronting the frost and the sun, That the dream of the world might… And the goodly will be done. Did the hand of the builder guess,
ON the world’s far edges Faint and blue, Where the rocky ledges Stand in view, Fades the rosy tender