#CanadianWriters
Now on the hill The fitful wind is so still That never a wimpling mist uplifts… Nor a trembling leaf drop-laden st… From the ancient firs
I feel Very much Like taking Its unholy perpetrators By the hair
Above the marge of night a star st… And on the frosty hills the sombre… Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth… Over the glimmering wastes of virg… Through the pale arch of orient th…
Mother of her who is close to my h… Cease to chide! For no small thing must I wander… From the tender arms and lips of m… My love with eyes like the glowing…
Lo, find we here when the ripe day… A kingdom of enchantment by the sh… Behold the sky with early stars as… A jewelled flagon brimmed with pur… Like a dumb poet’s soul the troubl…
Surely the flowers of a hundred sp… Are simply the souls of beautiful… The poppies aflame with gold and r… Were the kisses of lovers in days… The purple pansies with dew-drops…
We shall launch our shallop on wat… We shall sail with the magic of du… Over oceans that stretch to the su… And our pilot shall be the vesper… The sirens will call to us again,…
Over the fields we go, through the… That letters a message for us as f… Before us the dells are abloom, an… Feeling its kinship with us in lor… Out of the valleys of moonlight el…
A gallant city has been builded fa… In the pied heaven, Bannered with crimson, sentinelled… Of crystal even; Around a harbor of the twilight gl…
There is never a wind to sing o’er… On its dimpled bosom that holdeth… Wealth of silver and magicry; And the harbor is like to an ebon… With mother-o’-pearl to the lips l…
With tears they buried you to-day, But well I knew no turf could hol… Your gladness long beneath the mou… Or cramp your laughter in the clay… I smiled while others wept for you
There’s a grayness over the harbor… The sob of the waves has a sound a… And the deeps beyond the bar are m… Of a storm that will leap from its… Slowly the pale mists rise, like g…
The poet sang of a battle-field Where doughty deeds were done, Where stout blows rang on helm and… And a kingdom’s fate was spun With the scarlet thread of victory…
We were out on the hills that nigh… To watch our sheep; Drowsily by the fire we lay Where the waning flame did flicker… And some were weary and half aslee…
Shut from the clamor of the street By an old wall with lichen grown, It holds apart from jar and fret A peace and beauty all its own. The freshness of the springtime ra…