#CanadianWriters
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…
What would’st thou have for easeme… When the rude world hath used thee… And care sits at thine elbow day a… Filching thy pleasures like a subt… To me, when life besets me in such…
The dew is gleaming in the grass, The morning hours are seven, And I am fain to watch you pass, Ye soft white clouds of heaven. Ye stray and gather, part and fold…
On such a day the shrunken stream Spends its last water and runs dry… Clouds like far turrets in a dream Stand baseless in the burning sky. On such a day at every rod
I love the warm bare earth and all That works and dreams thereon: I love the seasons yet to fall: I love the ages gone, The valleys with the sheeted grain…
Why weep ye in your innocent toil… Sweet little hands, why halt and t… Full many a wrong note falls, but… Each note to me is like a golden g… Each broken cadence like a mournin…
Half god, half brute, within the s… Changers with every hour from dawn… Who dream with angels in the gate… And skirt with curious eyes the br… Children of Pan, whom some, the f…
A moment the wild swallows like a… Of withered gust-caught leaves, se… Toss in the windrack up the mutter… The leaves hang still. Above the… The hurrying centres of the storm…
Beside the pounding cataracts Of midnight streams unknown to us ’Tis builded in the leafless tract… And valleys huge of Tartarus. Lurid and lofty and vast it seems;
Methought I journeyed along ways… Throughout a happy land where stri… And life went by me flowing like a… Past sandy eyots where the shiftin… A land where beauty dwelt supreme,…
Now overhead, Where the rivulet loiters and stop… The bittersweet hangs from the top… Of the alders and cherries Its bunches of beautiful berries,
Harsh thoughts, blind angers, and… That keep this restless world at s… Mean passions that, like choking s… Perplex the stream of life, Pride and hot envy and cold greed,
Underneath a tree at noontide Abu Midjan sits distressed, Fetters on his wrists and ancles, And his chin upon his breast; For the Emir’s guard had taken,
Long, long ago, it seems, this sum… That pale-browed April passed wit… Through the frore woods, and from… Woke the arbutus with her silver h… And now May, too, is fled,
White are the far-off plains, and… The fading forests grow; The wind dies out along the height… And denser still the snow, A gathering weight on roof and tre…