The Poor Man’s Lamb (Anne Kingsmill Finch Poems)
NOW spent the alter'd King, in am'rous Cares, The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray'rs: In vain the Alter ...
NOW spent the alter'd King, in am'rous Cares, The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray'rs: In vain the Alter ...
. Pale, at its ghastly noon, Pauses above the death-still wood—the moon; The night-sprite, sighing, ...
O Child of Nations, giant-limbed, Who stand'st among the nations now Unheeded, unadored, unhymned, With unanointed brow, — How long the ignoble sloth, how long The trust in greatness not thine own? Surely the lion's brood is strong To front the world alone! How long the indolence, ere thou dare Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame, — Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear A nation's franchise, nation's name? The Saxon force, the Celtic fire, These are thy manhood's heritage! Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higher The place of race and age. I see to every wind unfurled The flag that bears the Maple Wreath; Thy swift keels furrow round the world Its blood-red folds beneath; Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas; Thy white sails swell with alien gales; To stream on each remotest breeze The black smoke of thy pipes exhales. O Falterer, let thy past convince Thy future, — all the growth, the gain, The fame since Cartier knew thee, since Thy shores beheld Champlain! (Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm! Quebec, thy storied citadel Attest in burning song and psalm How here thy heroes fell! O Thou that bor'st the battle's brunt At Queenston and at Lundy's Lane, — On whose scant ranks but iron front The battle broke in vain! — Whose was the danger, whose the day, From whose triumphant throats the cheers, At Chrysler's Farm, at Chateauguay, Storming like clarion-bursts our ears? On soft Pacific slopes, — beside Strange floods that northward rave and fall, — Where chafes Acadia's chainless tide — Thy sons await thy call. They wait; but some in exile, some With strangers housed, in stranger lands, — And some Canadian lips are dumb Beneath Egyptian sands. O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields Before us; thy most ancient dreams Are mixed with far Canadian fields And murmur of Canadian streams. But thou, my country, dream not thou! Wake, and behold how night is done, — How on thy breast, and o'er thy brow, Bursts the uprising sun!(Charles G. D. Roberts)
Strong extreme speed, that the brain hurries with, Further than trees, and hedges, and green grass Whitened by distance,-further than ...
I A REMOTE sky, prolonged to the sea's brim: One rock-point standing ...
Mrs Dibbs, the washerwoman, coming down the street,Shabby old "elastic-sides" on her funny feet As she toddles by the pub, ...
SURELY, dame Nature made you in some dream Of old-world women--Chriemhild, or bright Aslauga, or Boadicea fierce and fair, Or ...
The bear that breathes the northern blastDid numb, torpedo-like, a waspWhose stiffened limbs encramped, lay bathingIn Sol's warm breath and ...
A something in a summer's DayAs slow her flambeaux burn awayWhich solemnizes me.A something in a summer's noon -A depth ...
Two fish Under the spell Of the fisherman. One in the bucket One on the line, Hook deep into flesh. ...
NOW spent the alter'd King, in am'rous Cares, The Hours of sacred Hymns and solemn Pray'rs: In vain the Alter ...
A something in a summer's Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer's ...
We will make our meek adjustments, Contented with such random consolations As the wind deposits In slithered and too ample ...
SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE. Let us begin and carry up this corpse, Singing together. Leave we ...
Far from the Rappahannock, the silent Danube moves along toward the sea. The brown and green Nile rolls slowly Like ...
IN a faraway northern county, in the placid, pastoral region, Lives my farmer friend, the theme of my recitative, a ...
The bear that breathes the northern blast Did numb, torpedo-like, a wasp Whose stiffened limbs encramped, lay bathing In Sol's ...
Is it so, that the sword is broken, Our sword, that was halfway drawn? Is it so, that the light ...
Pale, at its ghastly noon, Pauses above the death-still wood--the moon; The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs; The ...
But where began the change; and what's my crime? The wretch condemned, who has not been arraigned, Chafes at his ...
This is the last of all, this is the last! I must hold my hands, and turn my face to ...
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