#CanadianWriters
’Tis well with words, oh masters,… To turn men’s eyes yearning to the… Yet first take heed to what your o… By deeds not words the souls of me… Good lives alone are fruitful; the…
O Power to whom this earthly clim… Is but an atom in the whole, O Poet-heart of Space and Time, O Maker and Immortal Soul, Within whose glowing rings are bou…
I heard the city time-bells call Far off in hollow towers, And one by one with measured fall Count out the old dead hours; I felt the march, the silent press
The trees rustle; the wind blows Merrily out of the town; The shadows creep, the sun goes Steadily over and down. In a brown gloom the moats gleam;
In the silent depth of space, Immeasurably old, immeasurably far… Glittering with a silver flame Through eternity, Rolls a great and burning star,
The old grey year is near his term… And now with backward eye and soft… Awakens to a golden dream of youth… A second childhood lovely and most… And the smooth hour about his mist…
I stand at noon upon the heated fl… At the bleached crossing of two st… With brain scarce conscious now th… Of noonday passengers is done. Tw… Stand at an open doorway piled wit…
One moment, the slim cloudflakes s… With their sad sunward faces aureo… And longing lips set downward brig… To take the last sweet hand kiss o… Gone down beyond the closing west…
A single dreary elm, that stands b… The sombre forest and the wan-lit… Halves with its slim gray stem and… The shadowed point. Beyond it wit… Bold brows of pine-topped granite…
The frost that stings like fire up… The loneliness of this forsaken gr… The long white drift upon whose po… I sit in the great silence as one… The rippled sheet of snow where th…
The glittering roofs are still wit… Black chimney builds into the quie… Its curling pile to crumble silent… Far out to westward on the edge of… The slender misty city towers up-b…
The earth is the cup of the sun, That he filleth at morning with wi… With the warm, strong wine of his… From the vintage of gold and of li… Fills it, and makes it divine.
Now overhead, Where the rivulet loiters and stop… The bittersweet hangs from the top… Of the alders and cherries Its bunches of beautiful berries,
Friend, though thy soul should bur… Thoughts were not meant for strife… He that sees clear is gentlest of… And that’s not truth that hath the… The whole world’s thought shall no…
Here the dead sleep—the quiet dead… Disturbs them ever, and no storm d… Winter mid snow caresses the tired… And the wind roars about the woodl… Springtime and summer and red autu…