The Magic House, and Other Poems
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The Magic House, and Other Poems - Duncan Campbell Scott
Duncan Campbell Scott
The Magic House, and Other Poems
EAN 8596547039990
DigiCat, 2022
Contact: DigiCat@okpublishing.info
Table of Contents
A LITTLE SONG
THE HILL PATH TO H.D.S.
THE VOICE AND THE DUSK
FOR REMEMBRANCE
THE MESSAGE
THE SILENCE OF LOVE
AN IMPROMPTU
FROM THE FARM ON THE HILL TO A.P.S.
AT SCARBORO’ BEACH
THE FIFTEENTH OF APRIL TO A.L.
IN AN OLD QUARRY NOVEMBER
TO WINTER
TO WINTER
THE IDEAL
A SUMMER STORM
LIFE AND DEATH
IN THE COUNTRY CHURCHYARD TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER
SONG
THE MAGIC HOUSE
IN THE HOUSE OF DREAMS
I
II
THE RIVER TOWN
OFF THE ISLE AUX COUDRES
AT LES EBOULEMENTS TO M. E. S.
ABOVE ST. IRÉNÉE
WRITTEN IN A COPY OF ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN’S POEMS
OFF RIVIÈRE DU LOUP
AT THE CEDARS TO W. W. C.
THE END OF THE DAY
THE REED-PLAYER TO B. C.
A FLOCK OF SHEEP TO C. G. D. R.
A PORTRAIT
AT THE LATTICE
THE FIRST SNOW
I
II
IN NOVEMBER TO J. A. R.
THE SLEEPER
A NIGHT IN JUNE
MEMORY
YOUTH AND TIME
A MEMORY OF THE ‘INFERNO’
LA BELLE FERONIÈRE
A NOVEMBER DAY
OTTAWA
SONG
NIGHT AND THE PINES
A NIGHT IN MARCH
SEPTEMBER
BY THE WILLOW SPRING TO E. W.
A LITTLE SONG
Table of Contents
The
sunset in the rosy west
Burned soft and high;
A shore-lark fell like a stone to his nest
In the waving rye.
A wind came over the garden beds
From the dreamy lawn,
The pansies nodded their purple heads,
The poppies began to yawn.
One pansy said: It is only sleep,
Only his gentle breath:
But a rose lay strewn in a snowy heap,
For the rose it was only death.
Heigho, we’ve only one life to live,
And only one death to die:
Good-morrow, new world, have you nothing to give?—
Good-bye, old world, good-bye.
THE HILL PATH
TO H.D.S.
Table of Contents
Are
the little breezes blind,
They that push me as they pass?
Do they search the tangled grass
For some path they want to find?
Take my fingers, little wind;
You are all alone, and I
Am alone too. I will guide,
You will follow; let us go
By a pathway that I know,
Leading down the steep hillside,
Past the little sharp-lipped pools,
Shrunken with the summer sun,
Where the sparrows come to drink;
And we’ll scare the little birds,
Coming on them unawares;
And the daisies every one
We will startle on the brink
Of a doze.
(Gently, gently, little wind),
Very soon a wood we’ll see,
There my lover waits for me.
(Go more gently, little wind,
You should follow soft, behind.)
You will hear my lover say
How he loves me night and day,
But his words you must not tell
To the other little winds,
For they all might come to hear,
And might rustle through the wood,
And disturb the solitude.
(Blow more softly, little wind,
You are tossing all my hair,
Go more gently, have a care;
If you lead you can’t be blind,
So,—good-bye:)
There he goes: I see his feet
On the grass;
Now the little pools are blurred
As they pass;
And he must be very fleet,
For I see the bushes stirred
Near the wood. I hope he’ll tell,
If he isn’t out of breath,
That he met me on the hill.
But I hope he will not say
That he kissed me for good-bye
Just before he flew away.
THE VOICE AND THE DUSK
Table of Contents
The
slender moon and one pale star,
A rose-leaf and a silver bee
From some god’s garden blown afar,
Go down the gold deep tranquilly.
Within the south there rolls and grows
A mighty town with tower and spire,
From a cloud bastion masked with rose
The lightning flashes diamond fire.
The purple-martin darts about
The purlieus of the iris fen;
The king-bird rushes up and out,
He screams and whirls and screams again.
A thrush is hidden in a maze
Of cedar buds and tamarac bloom,
He throws his rapid flexile phrase,
A flash of emeralds in the gloom.
A voice is singing from the hill
A happy love of long ago;
Ah! tender voice, be still, be still,
‘’Tis sometimes better not to know.’
The rapture from the amber height
Floats tremblingly along the plain,
Where in the reeds with fairy light
The lingering fireflies gleam again.
Buried in dingles more remote,
Or drifted from some ferny rise,
The swooning of the golden throat
Drops in the mellow dusk and dies.
A soft wind passes lightly drawn,
A wave leaps silverly and stirs
The rustling sedge, and then is gone
Down the black cavern in the firs.