Bliss Carman

Earth Voices

I I heard the spring wind whisper Above the brushwood fire, “The world is made forever Of transport and desire. “I am the breath of being, The primal urge of things; I am the

A Sea Child

The lover of child Marjory Had one white hour of life brim full; Now the old nurse, the rocking sea, Hath him to lull. The daughter of child Marjory Hath in her veins, to

The Ships of Saint John

Where are the ships I used to know, That came to port on the Fundy tide Half a century ago, In beauty and stately pride? In they would come past the beacon light, With

Lord of my heart’s elation, Spirit of things unseen, Be thou my aspiration Consuming and serene! Bear up, bear out, bear onward This mortal soul alone, To selfhood or oblivion, Incredibly thine own,- As

On Love

TO the assembled folk At great St. Kavin’s spoke Young Brother Amiel on Christmas Eve; I give you joy, my friends, That as the round year ends, We meet once more for gladness by

Behind the Arras

I like the old house tolerably well, Where I must dwell Like a familiar gnome; And yet I never shall feel quite at home. I love to roam. Day after day I loiter and

Rivers of Canada

O all the little rivers that run to Hudson’s Bay, They call me and call me to follow them away. Missinaibi, Abitibi, Little Current where they run Dancing and sparkling I see them in

By the Aurelian Wall

In Memory of John Keats By the Aurelian Wall, Where the long shadows of the centuries fall From Caius Cestius’ tomb, A weary mortal seeking rest found room For quiet burial, Leaving among his

The Vagabonds

We are the vagabonds of time, And rove the yellow autumn days, When all the roads are gray with rime And all the valleys blue with haze. We came unlooked for as the wind

If Death be Good

(Sappho LXXIV) If death be good, Why do the gods not die? If life be ill, Why do the gods still live? If love be naught, Why do the gods still love? If love

The Old Gray Wall

Time out of mind I have stood Fronting the frost and the sun, That the dream of the world might endure, And the goodly will be done. Did the hand of the builder guess,

The Winter Scene

I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare woods, or the hardy bitter-sweet; Drivers have put their sheepskin jackets on; And all

Low Tide on Grand Pré

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. And yet I know

Why

FOR a name unknown, Whose fame unblown Sleeps in the hills For ever and aye; For her who hears The stir of the years Go by on the wind By night and day; And

A Song before Sailing

Wind of the dead men’s feet, Blow down the empty street Of this old city by the sea With news for me! Blow me beyond the grime And pestilence of time! I am too

A Creature Catechism

I Soul, what art thou in the tribes of the sea? LORD, said a flying fish, Below the foundations of storm We feel the primal wish Of the earth take form. Through the dim

The Eavesdropper

In a still room at hush of dawn, My Love and I lay side by side And heard the roaming forest wind Stir in the paling autumn-tide. I watched her earth-brown eyes grow glad

The Heart of Night

When all the stars are sown Across the night-blue space, With the immense unknown, In silence face to face. We stand in speechless awe While Beauty marches by, And wonder at the Law Which

White Nassau

There is fog upon the river, there is mirk upon the town; You can hear the groping ferries as they hoot each other down; From the Battery to Harlem there’s seven miles of slush,

I Loved Thee, Atthis, in the Long Ago

(Sappho XXIII) I loved thee, Atthis, in the long ago, When the great oleanders were in flower In the broad herded meadows full of sun. And we would often at the fall of dusk

Veni Creator

I LORD of the grass and hill, Lord of the rain, White Overlord of will, Master of pain, I who am dust and air Blown through the halls of death, Like a pale ghost

The Ships of Yule

When I was just a little boy, Before I went to school, I had a fleet of forty sail I called the Ships of Yule; Of every rig, from rakish brig And gallant barkentine,