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Poems   By: (1866-1913)

Book cover

First Page:




(For Private Circulation.)

April, 1889:

Printed for the Author by J. J. Anslow.

Windsor, N. S.


Sonnets :

Crows. Futurity. There is no God. Disappointment. A Shallow. Triumph.

Rondeaux :

I Will Forget. When Summer Comes. It Might Have Been. Brother and Friend. Pourquoi? For our Love's Sake.

Echoes. Noon. Pictures. Eurydice. Slack Tide. An Evening in October. Parted. Tout pour L'Amour. Soothing.


They stream across the fading western sky A sable cloud, far o'er the lonely leas; Now parting into scattered companies, Now closing up the broken ranks, still high And higher yet they mount, while, carelessly, Trail slow behind, athwart the moving trees A lingering few, 'round whom the evening breeze Plays with sad whispered murmurs as they fly.

A lonely figure, ghostly in the dim And darkening twilight, lingers in the shade Of bending willows: "Surely God has laid His curse on me," he moans, "my strength of limb And old heart courage fail me, and I flee Bowed with fell terror at this augury."


What of our life when this frail flesh lies low A withered clod, and the free soul has burst Through the world fetters? Not of souls accursed With cherished lusts that mar them, those who sow Evil and reap the harvest, and who bow At Mammon's golden shrine, but those who thirst For Truth, and see not, spirits deep immersed In doubt and trouble, hearts that fain would know?

The soul is satisfied. The spirit trained For the divine, because the beautiful, Now with the body gone, free and unstained, Doubts swept away like clouds of scattering wool Before a blast, e'er Heaven's pure paths are trod Is perfected to understand its God.


There is no God? If one should stand at noon Where the glow rests, and the warm sunlight plays, Where earth is gladdened by the cordial rays And blossoms answering, where the calm lagoon Gives back the brightness of the heart of June, And he should say: "There is no sun" the day's Fair shew still round him, should we lose the blaze And warmth, and weep that day has gone so soon?

Nay, there would be one word, one only thought, "The man is blind!" and throbs of pitying scorn Would rouse the heart, and stir the wondering mind. We feel , and see , and therefore know , the morn With blush of youth ne'er left us till it brought Promise of full grown day. "The man is blind!"


The light has left the hill side. Yesterday These skies shewed blue against the dusky trees, The leaves' soft murmur in the evening breeze Was music, and the waves danced in the bay. Then was my heart, as ever, far away With you, and I could see you as one sees A mirrored face, and happiness and ease And hope were mine, in spite of long delay.

After these months of waiting, this is all! Hope, dead, lies coffined, shrouded in despair, With all the blessings of the outer air Forgot, 'neath the black covering of a pall. Only the darkening of the woodland ways, A heart's low moaning over wasted days.


The world to day is radiant, as I ne'er Could picture it in wildest dreaming, when For long, long hours I lay in flowery glen Or wooded copse, and tried in vain to tear The glamour from my eyes, and face the glare And tumult of the busy world of men. I staked my all, and won! and ne'er again Can my blest spirit know a heart's despair.

And yet and yet why should it be that now, When all my heart has longed for is at last Within my grasp, and I should be at rest, A ghostly Something rising in the glow Of Love's own fire, an uninvited guest, Taunts me with just one memory of the past!

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