#Canadians
Fair little scout, that when the i… Changes, and the first fleecy clou… Comest with such a sudden burst of… Lifting on winter’s doomed and bro… That song of silvery triumph blith…
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…
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
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,
Here the dead sleep—the quiet dead… Disturbs them ever, and no storm d… Winter mid snow caresses the tired… And the wind roars about the woodl… Springtime and summer and red autu…
Heavy with haze that merges and me… Into the measureless depth on eith… The full day rests upon the lumino… In one long noon of golden reverie… Now hath the harvest come and gone…
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…
What would’st thou have for easeme… When the rude world hath used thee… And care sits at thine elbow day a… Filching thy pleasures like a subt… To me, when life besets me in such…
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…
O differing human heart, Why is it that I tremble when thi… Thy human eyes and beautiful human… Draw me, and stir within my soul That subtle ineradicable longing
The world is bright with beauty, a… Are filled with music; could we on… True ends from false, and lofty th… Could we but tear away the walls t… Our very elbows in life’s frosty w…
No girdle hath weaver or goldsmith… So rich as the arms of my love can… No gems with a lovelier lustre fra… Than her eyes, when they answer me… Dear lady of love, be kind to me
Think not, because thine inmost he… Thou hast the freedom of rude spee… Are like the voices of returning b… Filling the soul with summer, or a… That calls the weary and the sick…
Why do ye call the poet lonely, Because he dreams in lonely places… He is not desolate, but only Sees, where ye cannot, hidden face…
The leafless forests slowly yield To the thick-driving snow. A litt… And night shall darken down. In s… The woodmen’s carts go by me homew… Past the thin fading stubbles, hal…