All yesterday the thought of you w… And when sleep wandered o’er the w… To fill my dreams with splendour s… And in the morn I wakened with yo… Awakened, my beloved, to the morni…

Not of the seething cities with th… Their fetid airs, their reeking st… Not of the buried yesterdays, but… The glory and the gateway of the y… The Northern Lights dance down he…

When did you sink to your dreamles… Out there in your thunder bed? Where the tempests sweep, And the waters leap, And the storms rage overhead.

Halifax sits on her hills by the s… In the might of her pride,— Invincible, terrible, beautiful, s… With a sword at her side. To right and to left of her, battl…

A thin wet sky, that yellows at th… And meets with sun-lost lip the ma… The pools low lying, dank with mos… Glint through their mildews like l… Among the wild rice in the still l…

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…

And only where the forest fires ha… Scorching relentlessly the cool no… A sweet wild flower lifts its purp… And, like some gentle spirit sorro… It hides the scars with almost hum…

’Tis morning now, yet silently I… Uplift the curtain with a weary ha… Look out while darkness overspread… And long for day. Calm peace is frighted with my moo…

To none the city bends a servile k… Purse-proud and scornful, on her h… And at her feet the great white mo… Shoulders incessantly the grey-gol… One the Almighty’s child since ti…

Little brown baby-bird, lapped in… Wrapped in your nest, Strapped in your nest, Your straight little cradle-board… Its hands are your nest;

Pillowed and hushed on the silent… Wrapped in her mantle of golden gr… Wearied of pleasuring weeks away, Summer is lying asleep to-day,— Where winds come sweet from the wi…

Up the dusk-enfolded prairie, Foot-falls, soft and sly, Velvet cushioned, wild and wary, Then—the coyote’s cry. Rush of hoofs, and roar and rattle…

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.

So near at hand (our eyes o’erlook… In search of distant things) A dear dream lay—perchance to grow… Had we but felt its wings Astir. The air our very breathing…

Lent gathers up her cloak of sombr… In her reluctant hands. Her beauty heightens, fairest in i… As pensively she stands Awaiting Easter’s benediction fal…