#CanadianWriters
Nurture thyself, O Soul, from the… That wells beneath the secret inne… Commune with its deep murmur,—'tis… Be faithful to the ebb and flow th… The outer tide of Spirit to troub…
This is not June,—by Autumn’s str… Thou hast been ambushed in the chi… Upon thy fragile crest virginal fa… The rime has clustered in a diadem… The early frost
From the upland hidden, Where the hill is sunny Tawny like pure honey In the August heat, Memories float unbidden
The Earth moans in her sleep Like an old mother Whose sons have gone to the war, Who weeps silently in her heart Till dreams comfort her.
Crown her with stars, this angel o… Cover her with morning, this thing… Mantle her with midnight till a mo… See her for the garments of the li… How far I wandered, worlds away a…
Dawn-cool, dew-cool Gleams the surface of my pool Bird haunted, fern enchanted, Where but tempered spirits rule; Stars do not trace their mystic li…
Here where the cypress tall Shadows the stucco wall, Bronze and deep, Where the chrysanthemums blow, And the roses—blood and snow—
A ROBIN in the morning, In the morning early, Sang a song of warning, “There’ll be rain, there’ll be rai… Very, very clearly
THE slender moon and one pale sta… A rose leaf and a silver bee From some god’s garden blown afar, Go down the gold deep tranquilly. Within the south there rolls and g…
Those we have loved the dearest, The bravest and the best, Are summoned from the battle To their eternal rest; There they endure the silence,
She is free of the trap and the pa… The portage and the trail, But something behind her savage li… Shines like a fragile veil. Her dreams are undiscovered,
Set within a desert lone, Circled by an arid sea, Stands a figure carved in stone, Where a fountain used to be. Two abraded, pleading hands
A deep bell that links the downs To the drowsy air; Every loop of sound that swoons, Finds a circle fair, Whereon it doth rest and fade;
I DWELL in the sea that is wild… But afar in a shadow still, I can see the trees that gather an… In the wood upon the hill. The deeps are green as an emerald’…
This silver-edged geranium leaf Is one sign of a bitter grief Whose symbols are a myriad more; They cluster round a carven stone Where she who sleeps is never alon…