#CanadianWriters
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…
What is more large than knowledge… Knowledge of thoughts and deeds, o… Of passions and of beauties and of… Knowledge of life; to feel its gre… Through all the soul upon her crys…
‘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…
Again the warm bare earth, the noo… That hangs upon her healing scars, The midnight round, the great red… The mother with her brood of stars… The mist-rack and the wakening rai…
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…
The world in gloom and splendour p… And thou in the midst of it with b… A creature of that old distorted d… That makes the sound of life an ev… Good men perform just deeds, and b…
Now the creeping nets of sleep Stretch about and gather nigh, And the midnight dim and deep Like a spirit passes by, Trailing from her crystal dress
Once ye were happy, once by many a… Wherever Glooscap’s gentle feet m… Lulled by his presence like a drea… Floating at rest; but that was lon… He was too good for earthly men; h…
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…
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…
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
Mother of balms and soothings mani… Quiet-breathed night whose broodin… To whom the voices of all rest are… And those few stars whose scattere… Far off beyond the westward hills…
’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…
Now overhead, Where the rivulet loiters and stop… The bittersweet hangs from the top… Of the alders and cherries Its bunches of beautiful berries,
With what doubting eyes, oh sparro… Thou regardest me, Underneath yon spray of yarrow, Dipping cautiously. Fear me not, oh little sparrow,