#CanadianWriters
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…
The earth is the cup of the sun, That he filleth at morning with wi… With the warm, strong wine of his… From the vintage of gold and of li… Fills it, and makes it divine.
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…
Think not, oh master of the well-t… This earth is only thine; for afte… When all is sown and gathered and… Comes the grave poet with creative… And from these silent acres and cl…
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…
Even as I watched the daylight ho… From noon till eve, and saw the li… In long pale waves across the flas… And heard through all my dreams, w… The thin cicada singing overhead,
How deep the April night is in it… The hopeful, solemn, many-murmured… The earth lies hushed with expecta… Above the world’s dark border burn… Yellow and large; from forest floo…
The old grey year is near his term… And now with backward eye and soft… Awakens to a golden dream of youth… A second childhood lovely and most… And the smooth hour about his mist…
Subtly conscious, all awake, Let us clear our eyes, and break Through the cloudy chrysalis, See the wonder as it is. Down a narrow alley, blind,
There came no change from week to… On all the land, but all one way, Like ghosts that cannot touch nor… Day followed day. Within the palace court the rounds
Oh city, whom grey stormy hands ha… With restless drift, scarce broken… Out of the dark thy windows dim an… Gleam red across the storm. Sound… Save evermore the fierce wind’s sw…
One after one the high emotions fa… Time’s wheeling measure empties an… Year after year; we seek no more t… That lured our youth divine and un… But swarming on some common highwa…
Along the waste, a great way off,… Like tall slim priests of storm, s… The low long strip of dolorous red… The under west, where wet winds mo… The cornfields all are brown, and…
The frost that stings like fire up… The loneliness of this forsaken gr… The long white drift upon whose po… I sit in the great silence as one… The rippled sheet of snow where th…
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