The sun goes down, and over all These barren reaches by the tide Such unelusive glories fall, I almost dream they yet will bide Until the coming of the tide.

THIS is a holy refuge, The garden of Saint Rose, A fragrant altar to that peace The world no longer knows. Below a solemn hillside,

To H. E. C. THERE are sunflowers too in my g… Where now in the early September… The slow autumn sun that goes leis… Of life in the orchards and fir-wo…

THE sleeping tarn is dark Below the wooded hill. Save for its homing sounds, The twilit world grows still. And I am left to muse

I thank thee, Earth, for water go… The sea’s great bath of buoyant gr… Or the cold mountain torrent’s flo… That I may keep this body clean. I thank thee more for goodly wine,

Hack ad Hew were the sons of God In the earlier earth than now: One at his right hand, one at his… To obey as he taught them how. And Hack was blind, and Hew was d…

NOW the little rivers go Muffled safely under snow, And the winding meadow streams Murmur in their wintry dreams, While a tinkling music wells

ONCE I walked the world enchante… Through the scented woods of sprin… Hand in hand with Love, in raptur… Just to hear a bluebird sing. Now the lonely winds of autumn

Over the hills of April With soft winds hand in hand, Impassionate and dreamy-eyed, Spring leads her saraband. Her garments float and gather

O all the little rivers that run t… They call me and call me to follow… Missinaibi, Abitibi, Little Curr… Dancing and sparkling I see them… I hear the brawling rapid, the thu…

IN a far Eastern country It happened long of yore, Where a lone and level sunrise Flushes the desert floor, That three kings sat together

WHO called us forth out of darkne… Who set our hands to the toiling,… Darkly they mused, predestined to… Sowing the seed of wisdom, guardin… Little they reckoned privation, hu…

NOW the joys of the road are chie… A crimson touch on the hard-wood t… A vagrant’s morning wide and blue, In early fall, when the wind walks… A shadowy highway cool and brown,

THE fireflies across the dusk Are flashing signals through the g… Courageous messengers of light That dare immensities of doom. About the seeding meadow-grass,

THERE is a world of being We range from pole to pole, Through seasons of the spirit And weather of the soul. It has its new-born Aprils,