The salt wave on the sedge-flat pulses slow. Through the hid furrows lisp in murmurous flow

The thaw's shy ministers; and hark! The height

Of heaven grows weird and loud with unseen flight

Of strong hosts prophesying as they go! High through the drenched and hollow night their wings

Beat northward hard on winter's trail. The sound

Of their confused and solemn voices, borne Athwart the dark to their long arctic morn, Comes with a sanction and an awe profound,

A boding of unknown, foreshadowed things.

Into the happy harbor hastening, gay With press of snowy canvas, tall ships throng.

The peopled streets to blithe-eyed Peace belong,

Glad housed beneath these crowding roofs of gray.

'Twas long ago this city prospered so, For yesterday a woman died therein. Since when the wharves are idle fallen, I know,

And in the streets is hushed the pleasant din;

The thronging ships have been, the songs have been;

Since yesterday it is so long ago.

TO THE LAKES

WITH purple glow at even,
With crimson waves at dawn,
Cool bending blue of heaven,

O blue lakes pulsing on ;

Lone haunts of wilding creatures dead to

wrong;

Your trance of mystic beauty Is wove into my song.

I know no gladder dreaming

In all the haunts of men,

I know no silent seeming

Like to your shore and fen;

No world of restful beauty like your world
Of curvèd shores and waters,
In sunlight vapors furled.

I pass and repass under

Your depths of peaceful blue ;

You dream your wild, hushed wonder
Mine aching heart into ;

And all the care and unrest pass away
Like night's gray, haunted shadows
At the red birth of day.

You lie in moon-white splendor
Beneath the northern sky,
Your voices soft and tender

In dream-worlds fade and die,

In whispering beaches, haunted bays and

A CANADIAN FOLK-SONG
THE doors are shut, the windows fast,
Outside the gust is driving past,
Outside the shivering ivy clings,
While on the hob the kettle sings.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.

The streams are hushed up where they flowed,

The ponds are frozen along the road,
The cattle are housed in shed and byre,
While singeth the kettle on the fire.

Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.

The fisherman on the bay in his boat
Shivers and buttons up his coat ;
The traveller stops at the tavern door,
And the kettle answers the chimney's roar.
Margery, Margery, make the tea,
Singeth the kettle merrily.

The firelight dances upon the wall,
Footsteps are heard in the outer hall,