Duncan Campbell Scott
Angelus
A deep bell that links the downs To the drowsy air; Every loop of sound that swoons, Finds a circle fair, Whereon it doth rest and fade; Every stroke that dins is laid Like
The Harvest
Sun on the mountain, Shade in the valley, Ripple and lightness Leaping along the world, Sun, like a gold sword Plucked from the scabbard, Striking the wheat-fields, Splendid and lusty, Close-standing, full-headed, Toppling with
Enigma
Some men are born to gather women’s tears, To give a harbour to their timorous fears, To take them as the dry earth takes the rain, As the dark wood the warm wind from
Afterwards
Her life was touched with early frost, About the April of her day, Her hold on earth was lightly lost, And like a leaf she went away. Her soul was chartered for great deeds,
At the Cedars
You had two girls Baptiste One is Virginie Hold hard Baptiste! Listen to me. The whole drive was jammed In that bend at the Cedars, The rapids were dammed With the logs tight rammed
The Half-breed Girl
She is free of the trap and the paddle, The portage and the trail, But something behind her savage life Shines like a fragile veil. Her dreams are undiscovered, Shadows trouble her breast, When
From Shadow
Now the November skies, And the clouds that are thin and gray, That drop with the wind away; A flood of sunlight rolls, In a tide of shallow light, Gold on the land and
The Forsaken
I Once in the winter Out on a lake In the heart of the north-land, Far from the Fort And far from the hunters, A Chippewa woman With her sick baby, Crouched in the
Permanence
Set within a desert lone, Circled by an arid sea, Stands a figure carved in stone, Where a fountain used to be. Two abraded, pleading hands Held below a shapeless mouth, Human-like the fragment
The Height of Land
Here is the height of land: The watershed on either hand Goes down to Hudson Bay Or Lake Superior; The stars are up, and far away The wind sounds in the wood, wearier Than
The Message
Wind of the gentle summer night, Dwell in the lilac tree, Sway the blossoms clustered light, Then blow over to me. Wind, you are sometimes strong and great, You frighten the ships at sea,
The Onondaga Madonna
She stands full-throated and with careless pose, This woman of a weird and waning race, The tragic savage lurking in her face, Where all her pagan passion burns and glows; Her blood is mingled
Night Hymns on Lake Nipigon
Here in the midnight, where the dark mainland and island Shadows mingle in shadow deeper, profounder, Sing we the hymns of the churches, while the dead water Whispers before us. Thunder is travelling slow
Rain and the Robin
A ROBIN in the morning, In the morning early, Sang a song of warning, “There’ll be rain, there’ll be rain.” Very, very clearly From the orchard Came the gentle horning, “There’ll be rain.” But
To a Canadian Aviator Who Died for his Country in France
Tossed like a falcon from the hunter’s wrist, A sweeping plunge, a sudden shattering noise, And thou hast dared, with a long spiral twist, The elastic stairway to the rising sun. Peril below thee