#CanadianWriters
We in sorrow coldly witting, In the bleak world sitting, sittin… By the forest, near the mould, Heard the summer calling, calling, Through the dead leaves falling, f…
O little one, daughter, my dearest… With your smiles and your beautifu… And your laughter, the brightest a… O gravest and gayest of girls; With your hands that are softer th…
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…
’Tis a land where no hurricane fal… But the infinite azure regards Its waters for ever, its walls Of granite, its limitless swards; Where the fens to their innermost…
The King’s son walks in the garde… Oh, the maiden’s heart is merry! He little knows for his toil and c… That the bride is gone and the bow… Put on garments of white, my maide…
Once, long ago, before the gods Had left this earth, by stream and… Where the first plough upturned th… Or the lost shepherd strayed, Often to the tired listener’s ear
With loitering step and quiet eye, Beneath the low November sky, I wandered in the woods, and found A clearing, where the broken groun… Was scattered with black stumps an…
All day upon the garden bright The suns shines strong, But in my heart there is no light, Or any song. Voices of merry life go by,
Out of the gray northwest, where m… Ye tugged and howled in your tempe… And evermore the huge frost giants… Your wizard guards in vigilance un… Out of the gray northwest, for now…
I lie upon my bed and hear and see… The moon is rising through the gli… And momently a great and sombre br… With a vast voice returning fitful… Comes like a deep-toned grief, and…
What do poets want with gold, Cringing slaves and cushioned ease… Are not crusts and garments old Better for their souls than these? Gold is but the juggling rod
When saw I yesterday walking apar… In a leafy place where the cattle… Something to keep for a charm in m… A little sweet girl in a garden ga… Laughing she lay in the gold sun’s…
Didst thou not tease and fret me t… Sweet spirit of this summer-circle… With that quiet voice of thine tha… Its meaning, though I mused and s… But now I am content to let it go…
From where I sit, I see the stars… And down the chilly floor The moon between the frozen bars Is glimmering dim and hoar. Without in many a peakèd mound
O doubts, dull passions, and base… That harassed and oppressed the da… Ye poor remorses and vain tears, That shook this house of clay: All heaven to the western bars