And tempests ceased their warring cry, and dumb
The lashing storms that muttered, overcome,
Choked by the heralding of battle smoke,
When these gnarled branches beat their martial drum.
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(ACROSTIC)
Atlantic and far Pacific sweeping her, keel to deck.North of her, ice and arctics; southward a rival’s stealth;Aloft, her Empire’s pennant; below, her nation’s wealth.Daughter of men and markets, bearing within her hold,Appraised at highest value, cargoes of grain and gold.
So near at hand (our eyes o’erlooked its nearness
A dear dream lay–perchance to grow in dearnessHad we but felt its wingsAstir. The air our very breathing fannedIt was so near at hand.Once, many days ago, we almost held it,The love we so desired;But our shut eyes saw not, and fate dispelled itBefore our pulses firedTo flame, and errant fortune bade us standHand almost…
Out of the night and the north;
Shaggy and swift comes the yelping band,Freighters of fur from the voiceless landThat sleeps in the Arctic zone.Laden with skins from the north,Beaver and bear and raccoon,Marten and mink from the polar belts,Otter and ermine and sable pelts–The spoils of the hunter’s moon.Out of the night and the north,Sinewy, fearless and fleet,Urging the pack through…
Sounds of the seas grow fainter,
The sweep of gales,The far white sails,Are silent, spent and dead.Sounds of the days of summerMurmur and die away,And distance hidesThe long, low tides,As night shuts out the day.
A thin wet sky, that yellows at the rim,
The pools low lying, dank with moss and mould,Glint through their mildews like large cups of gold.Among the wild rice in the still lagoon,In monotone the lizard shrills his tune.The wild goose, homing, seeks a sheltering,Where rushes grow, and oozing lichens cling.Late cranes with heavy wing, and lazy flight,Sail up the silence with the nearing…
I am the one who loved her as my life,
Won the dear privilege to call her wife,And found the world, because of her, was good.I am the one who heard the spirit voice,Of which the paleface settlers love to tell;From whose strange story they have made their choiceOf naming this fair valley the ‘Qu’Appelle.’She had said fondly in my eager ear–‘When Indian summer smiles…