Early Spring [Bliss Carman]
Now the soft rain comes over the blue hill,
And the red-shouldered blackbird sounds his flute
Along the meadows of the Silvermine.
Between its willow banks the winding stream
Is tinged with violet dusk, as the great moon
Rises in splendour on the Eastern ridge,
And through the twilight all the marshy ground
Rings with the silver chorus of the frogs.
In rocky groves the shy hepaticas
Awake to don their softest blue once more,
And troops of golden adder’s-tongue return.
In cool damp woods Jack-in-the-pulpit stands,
And the dark trillium for a mystic sign;
That all the old earth magic is renewed.
Immanence [Sir Charles G.D. Roberts]
Not only in the cataract and the thunder,
Or in the deeps of man’s uncharted soul,
But in the dew-star dwells alike the wonder,
And in the whirling dust-mote the control.
Δώρıа [Ezra Pound]
Be in me as the eternal moods
of the bleak wind, and not
As transient things are – – –
gaiety of flowers.
Have in me the strong loneliness
of sunless cliffs
And of grey waters.
Let the gods speak softly of us
In days hereafter,
The shadowy flowers of Orcus
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We’re off to Quebec City for the long-weekend, so I’ll just turn off comments here in case of spam. Be good. 🙂