#Canadians
A Threnody for Robert Louis Stev… COLD, the dull cold! What ails t… And takes the heart out of the day… What makes the morning look so mea… The Common so forlorn and gray?
NOW the lilac tree’s in bud, And the morning birds are loud. Now a stirring in the blood Moves the heart of every crowd. Word has gone abroad somewhere
AH, Pierrot, Where is thy Columbine? What vandal could untwine That gay rose-rope of thine, And spill thy joy like wine,
O LIFE, dear Life, in this fair… Long since did I, it seems to me, In some mysterious doleful way Fall out of love with thee. For, Life, thou art become a ghos…
When April winds arrive And the soft rains are here, Some morning by the roadside These gipsy folk appear. We never see their coming,
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
HERE all the forces of the wood As one converge, To make the soul of solitude Where all things merge. The sun, the rain-wind, and the ra…
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.
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…
The old eternal spring once more Comes back the sad eternal way, With tender rosy light before The going-out of day. The great white moon across my doo…
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,
MORTAL, mortal, have you seen In the scented summer night, Great Astarte, clad in green With a veil of mystic light, Passing on her silent way,
Lord of my heart’s elation, Spirit of things unseen, Be thou my aspiration Consuming and serene! Bear up, bear out, bear onward
I know a vale where I would go on… When June comes back and all the… Is glad with summer. Deep in shad… A mighty cleft between the bosomin… A cool dim gateway to the mountain…
THERE is a world of being We range from pole to pole, Through seasons of the spirit And weather of the soul. It has its new-born Aprils,