#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…
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
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…
Friend, though thy soul should bur… Thoughts were not meant for strife… He that sees clear is gentlest of… And that’s not truth that hath the… The whole world’s thought shall no…
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…
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
There is singing of birds in the d… In the heart of the listening soli… Pewees, and thrushes, and sparrows… And all the notes of their throats… The thrush from the innermost ash…
With loitering step and quiet eye, Beneath the low November sky, I wandered in the woods, and found A clearing, where the broken groun… Was scattered with black stumps an…
A single dreary elm, that stands b… The sombre forest and the wan-lit… Halves with its slim gray stem and… The shadowed point. Beyond it wit… Bold brows of pine-topped granite…
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…
There is no break in all the wide… Nor light on any field, and the wi… And talks of death. Where cold gr… Round greyer stones, and the new-f… Heap the chill hollows of the nake…
The point is turned; the twilight… The wheeling stream, the soft rece… And on our ears from deep among th… Breaks now the rapid’s sudden quic… Ah yet the same, or have they chan…
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…
O Power to whom this earthly clim… Is but an atom in the whole, O Poet-heart of Space and Time, O Maker and Immortal Soul, Within whose glowing rings are bou…
The full, clear moon uprose and sp… Her cold, pale splendor o’er the s… A light-strewn path that seemed to… Outward into eternity. Between the darkness and the gleam