#CanadianWriters
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
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…
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…
Harsh thoughts, blind angers, and… That keep this restless world at s… Mean passions that, like choking s… Perplex the stream of life, Pride and hot envy and cold greed,
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…
Belovèd, 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…
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…
Now being on the eve of death, dis… From every mortal hope and earthly… I questioned how my soul might bes… This hand, and this still wakeful… In the brief hours yet left me for…
Here when the cloudless April day… And the quaint crows flock thicker… Filling the forests with a pleasan… And the soiled snow creeps secretl… Comes the small busy sparrow, prim…
Let us be much with Nature; not a… That labour without seeing, that e… Her unloved forces, blindly withou… Nor those whose hands and crude de… The old brute passion to hunt down…
Grief was my master yesternight; To-morrow I may grieve again; But now along the windy plain The clouds have taken flight. The sowers in the furrows go;
Day and night pass over, rounding, Star and cloud and sun, Things of drift and shadow, empty Of my dearest one. Soft as slumber was my baby,
Out of the Northland sombre weird… A shadow falleth southward day by… Sad summers arms grow cold; his fi… His feet draw back to give the ste… It is the voice and shadow of the…
How still it is here in the woods.… Stand motionless, as if they did n… To stir, lest it should break the… Hangs quiet as spaces in a marble… Even this little brook, that runs…
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