#CanadianWriters
All day, all day, round the clacki… The weaver’s fingers fly: Gray dreams like frozen mists are… In the hush of the weaver’s eye; A voice from the dusk is calling y…
March is slain; the keen winds fly… Nothing more is thine to do; April kisses thee good-bye; Thou must haste and follow too; Silent friend that guarded well
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…
Songs that could span the earth, When leaping thought had stirred t… In many an hour since birth, We heard or dreamed we heard them. Sometimes to all their sway
O sun, shine hot on the river; For the ice is turning an ashen hu… And the still bright water is look… And the myriad streams are greetin… With a ballad of life to the giver…
Not to be conquered by these headl… But to stand free: to keep the min… On life’s deep meaning, nature’s a… Of loveliness, and time’s mysterio… At every thought and deed to clear…
In Nino’s chamber not a sound int… Upon the midnight’s tingling silen… Where Nino sits before his book a… Thin and brow-burdened with some f… Some gloom that hangs about his mo…
Once on the year’s last eve in my… Sitting in dreams, not sad, nor qu… Balancing all 'twixt wonder and de… Methought my body and all this wor… And vanished from me, as a dream,…
Or whether sad or joyous be her ho… Yet ever is she good and ever fair… If she be glad, ’tis like a child’… Who claps her hands above a heap o… And if she’s sad, it is no cloud t…
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
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
In his dim chapel day by day The organist was wont to play, And please himself with fluted rev… And all the spirit’s joy and strif… The longing of a tender life,
Beloved, those who moan of love’s… Shall find but little grace with m… Who know too well this passion’s t… To deem that it shall lightly pass… A moment’s interlude in life’s dul…
Mother, to whose valiant will Battling long ago, What the heaping years fulfil, Light and song, I owe; Send my little book afield,
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,…