#CanadianWriters #FemaleWriters
It is the blood-hued maple straigh… Voicing abroad its patriotic song. Its daring colours bravely flingin… The ensign of the Nation of the N…
From out the west, where darkling… The 'waking wind pipes soft its ri… From out the west, o’erhung with f… The wind preludes with sighs its r… Then blowing, singing, piping, lau…
At husking time the tassel fades To brown above the yellow blades, Whose rustling sheath enswathes th… That bursts its chrysalis in scorn Longer to lie in prison shades.
Hard by the Indian lodges, where… Breaks in a clearing, through ill-… She comes to labour, when the firs… Of autumn follows large and recent… Age in her fingers, hunger in her…
Across the street, an humble woman… To her ’tis little fortune ever gi… Denied the wines of life, it puzzl… To know how she can laugh so cheer… This morn I listened to her softl…
Into the rose gold westland, its y… World of the bison’s freedom, home… Roll out, O seas! in sunlight bat… Your plains wind-tossed, and grass… Farther than vision ranges, farthe…
What of the days when we two dream… Days marvellously fair, As lightsome as a skyward floating… Sailing on summer air— Summer, summer, that came drifting…
Lady Lorgnette, of the lifted las… The curling lip and the dainty nos… The shell-like ear where the jewel… The arching brow and the languid p… The rare old lace and the subtle s…
I may not go to-night to Bethlehe… Nor follow star-directed ways, nor… The paths wherein the shepherds wa… To Christ, and peace, and God’s g… I may not hear the Herald Angel’s…
‘Yes, sir, it’s quite a story, tho… But such things happened often whe… And the trapper tilted back his ch… ‘I ain’t thought of it neither fer… Although it used to haunt me in th…
There’s wine in the cup, Vancouve… And there’s warmth in my heart for… While I drink to your health, you… And the things that you yet will d… In a vintage rare and olden,
Night ‘neath the northern skies, l… Naught but the starlight lies ’twi… Of man no need has he, of God, no… He and his Deity are brothers the… Above his bivouac the firs fling d…
Sounds of the seas grow fainter, Sounds of the sands have sped; The sweep of gales, The far white sails, Are silent, spent and dead.
A sweet high treble threads its si… Voice of the restless aspen, fine… It trills its pure soprano, light… Like the vibretto of a mandolin.
Sob of fall, and song of forest, c… Calling through the seas and silen… Where the mountain pass is narrow,… Down its rocky-throated canyon, si… You are singing there together thr…