#CanadianWriters
I like the old house tolerably wel… Where I must dwell Like a familiar gnome; And yet I never shall feel quite… I love to roam.
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…
NOW the stars have faded In the purple chill, Lo, the sun is kindling On the eastern hill. Tree by tree the forest
IN the day of battle, In the night of dread, Let one hymn be lifted, Let one prayer be said. Not for pride of conquest,
AT the end of the road through th… I see the great moon rise. The fields are flooded with shine, And my soul with surmise. What if that mystic orb
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,
THE hilltop trees are bowing Under the coming of storm. The low gray clouds are trailing Like squadrons that sweep and form… With their ammunition of rain.
THERE, close the door! I shall not need these lodgings an… Now that I go, dismantled wall an… Reproach me and deplore. ‘How well,’ they say,
FOR a name unknown, Whose fame unblown Sleeps in the hills For ever and aye; For her who hears
WHEN I am only fit to go to bed, Or hobble out to sit within the su… Ring down the curtain, say the pla… And the last petals of the poppy s… I do not want to live when I am o…
WHO called us forth out of darkne… Who set our hands to the toiling,… Darkly they mused, predestined to… Sowing the seed of wisdom, guardin… Little they reckoned privation, hu…
THE play is Life; and this round… The narrow stage whereon We act before an audience Of actors dead and gone. There is a figure in the wings
One August day I sat beside A café window open wide To let the shower-fresh ened air Blow in across the Plaza, where In golden pomp against the dark
I HEAR you, Brother, I hear you… Down in the alder swamp, Springing your woodland whistle To herald the April pomp! First of the moving vanguard,
Soul, what art thou in the tribes… LORD, said a flying fish, Below the foundations of storm We feel the primal wish Of the earth take form.