#CanadianWriters
Before me grew the human soul, And after I am dead and gone, Through grades of effort and contr… The marvellous work shall still go… Each mortal in his little span
Clothed in splendour, beautifully… Comes the autumn over the woods an… Golden, rose-red, full of divine r… Full of foreboding. Soon the maples, soon will the glo…
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…
From plains that reel to southward… The road runs by me white and bare… Up the steep hill it seems to swim Beyond, and melt into the glare. Upward half-way, or it may be
The point is turned; the twilight… The wheeling stream, the soft rece… And on our ears from deep among th… Breaks now the rapid’s sudden quic… Ah yet the same, or have they chan…
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…
The darkness brings no quiet here,… No waking: ever on my blinded brai… The flare of lights, the rush, and… The engines’ scream, the hiss and… I see the hurrying crowds, the cla…
Canst thou not rest, O city, That liest so wide and fair; Shall never an hour bring pity, Nor end be found for care? Thy walls are high in heaven,
Move on, light hands, so strongly… Now with dropped calm and yearning… Now swift and loud, tumultuously s… And I in darkness, sitting near t… Shall not only hear, and feel, but…
Mother, to whose valiant will Battling long ago, What the heaping years fulfil, Light and song, I owe; Send my little book afield,
‘Grotesque!’ we said, the moment w… For there he stood, supreme in his… With short ears close together and… Planted irregularly: first we trie… With jokes, but they were lost; we…
All day between high-curded clouds… Shone down like summer on the stea… The long, bright icicles in dwindl… Dripped from the murmuring eaves t… They fell. As if the spring had n…
Blind multitudes that jar confused… At strife, earth’s children, will… From toils made hateful here, and… With ravelling self-engendered mis… And will ye never know, till sleep…
From this windy bridge at rest, In some former curious hour, We have watched the city’s hue, All along the orange west, Cupola and pointed tower,
Now overhead, Where the rivulet loiters and stop… The bittersweet hangs from the top… Of the alders and cherries Its bunches of beautiful berries,