 | Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill |  |
105
Songs from North-West Canada
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ON THE PRAIRIE.
Back on the great pale prairie that stretches out to the sky,
Bare to the winds and sunlight, glistening, grassy and dry;
You're back from the sweet old country, the island green and far,
You and Alberta had said Good-bye “for ever,” but here you are.
Bare to the winds and sunlight, glistening, grassy and dry;
You're back from the sweet old country, the island green and far,
You and Alberta had said Good-bye “for ever,” but here you are.
No tree to cast a coolness on all the land bare-browed,
Only a drifting shadow moves from a drifting, wide-winged cloud;
Open and undeceiving is the bright, unfriendly space,
You're miles from a spring of water, and miles from another face.
Only a drifting shadow moves from a drifting, wide-winged cloud;
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You're miles from a spring of water, and miles from another face.
The prairie's not for shelter, but it's plain to understand,
The winds are ever circling, and the sunshine warms the land;
This air is strong as ocean, this noon-light falls in showers
On crowds of the shimmering grasses, on millions of yellow flowers.
The winds are ever circling, and the sunshine warms the land;
This air is strong as ocean, this noon-light falls in showers
On crowds of the shimmering grasses, on millions of yellow flowers.
You've little cause for gladness, but your heart is up and glad,
No more it counts old sorrows, nor murmurs “once I had—”:
The best you had was never lost, for the best was never known,
Now if you will, a day shall rise that lights you to your own.
No more it counts old sorrows, nor murmurs “once I had—”:
The best you had was never lost, for the best was never known,
Now if you will, a day shall rise that lights you to your own.
109
The old cayuse you're riding, whose lordly name is Buck,
Can lope as far as the next horse and take you to your luck;
It may be a Mexican saddle is the highest seat you'll fill,
But it's all in being ready, for the way is through the will.
Can lope as far as the next horse and take you to your luck;
It may be a Mexican saddle is the highest seat you'll fill,
But it's all in being ready, for the way is through the will.
Oh, lift your head and see again the Rockies where they rise,
More shining than the morning cloud, more stable than the skies;
And look again to Southward for the waters that you know,
Between his flats and cut-banks the ice-fed River Bow.
More shining than the morning cloud, more stable than the skies;
And look again to Southward for the waters that you know,
Between his flats and cut-banks the ice-fed River Bow.
110
A MAY SONG.
The hills were dry and withered, the skies were dark with snow
When I let you go, dear love, when I let you go.
The storms came down and swept us, breath of the bitter North,
We rode through a blind white fury as the driven snows came forth,
And we held our peace for the most part, for the land lay under wrath.
This when I let you go, dear love, after I let you go.
When I let you go, dear love, when I let you go.
The storms came down and swept us, breath of the bitter North,
We rode through a blind white fury as the driven snows came forth,
And we held our peace for the most part, for the land lay under wrath.
This when I let you go, dear love, after I let you go.
111
When skies grew soft in April, and cloudy as for rain,
I called to you, “Come again, dear love!” I called to you, “Come again!”
The winter has gone for all but me, and a spring wind blows from the west;
The Easter buds are opening pale, but they come for a sign of the rest;
The birds from the South are back with us, but mine is an empty nest.
So I called to you, “Come again, dear love!” I called to you, “Come again!”
I called to you, “Come again, dear love!” I called to you, “Come again!”
The winter has gone for all but me, and a spring wind blows from the west;
The Easter buds are opening pale, but they come for a sign of the rest;
The birds from the South are back with us, but mine is an empty nest.
So I called to you, “Come again, dear love!” I called to you, “Come again!”
The ache of winter has gone from me, I wake with the heart of May;
We that were two are one, dear love! while it is called to-day.
Ride with me where we used to ride, and look on the mountains snowy and still,
On the gold-flowered willows catching the light, on the little blue lake at the foot of the hill;
But look at me longest, first and last; love but me,—and the rest as you will.
We that were two are one, dear love! Look in my eyes to-day.
We that were two are one, dear love! while it is called to-day.
Ride with me where we used to ride, and look on the mountains snowy and still,
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But look at me longest, first and last; love but me,—and the rest as you will.
We that were two are one, dear love! Look in my eyes to-day.
113
WILLOW CREEK.
The tent is pitched for sleeping in where cottonwoods are green,
And Willow Creek is running, rippling, singing all the way;
The misty hills are dim and far, the last the sun has seen,
And birds and leaves and silver fish are sleeping after play.
The day is slowly dying in a twilight grey,
And evening birds sing sweet for thanks that this one day has been.
And Willow Creek is running, rippling, singing all the way;
The misty hills are dim and far, the last the sun has seen,
And birds and leaves and silver fish are sleeping after play.
The day is slowly dying in a twilight grey,
And evening birds sing sweet for thanks that this one day has been.
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The stars are out in clusters, but the moon was never seen,
And Willow Creek is running, rippling, singing all the night;
With a breath of balm-of-Gilead comes the breeze at morning keen,
The cloudy east is broken by a single rift of light
The night is slowly dying in a day-dawn grey,
And morning birds sing sweet for thanks that this one night has been.
And Willow Creek is running, rippling, singing all the night;
With a breath of balm-of-Gilead comes the breeze at morning keen,
The cloudy east is broken by a single rift of light
The night is slowly dying in a day-dawn grey,
And morning birds sing sweet for thanks that this one night has been.
115
SPRING ON THE RANCHE.
Part I. THE LAST OF WINTER.
Oh, not for us the primrose faint, the south wind's hush-a-low,
Through shining aisles of the beech-trees that knew us years ago!
Here there's a long, long silence, and the dumbly falling snow.
Through shining aisles of the beech-trees that knew us years ago!
Here there's a long, long silence, and the dumbly falling snow.
The prairie rolls away, away, the hills are covered deep,
The water-springs in the coulées are sleeping a frozen sleep,
The sun-dogs glimmer for a storm; how long can winter keep?
The water-springs in the coulées are sleeping a frozen sleep,
The sun-dogs glimmer for a storm; how long can winter keep?
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Among the hungry cattle it's weary work to ride
And see the weak-knee'd mothers go stumbling side by side,
Nuzzling under the crusted snow for where new grass may hide.
And see the weak-knee'd mothers go stumbling side by side,
Nuzzling under the crusted snow for where new grass may hide.
There's not a blade of green yet, the last year's growth is rank,
Sodden and brown beneath the snow on hill and bottom and bank;
Every horse is a brute this month, and every man is a crank.
Sodden and brown beneath the snow on hill and bottom and bank;
Every horse is a brute this month, and every man is a crank.
Only the evening hours are good, when two can sit apart
Within the light of the fire they love, curing the winter's smart;
The hand is warm in another hand, the heart is safe with a heart.
Within the light of the fire they love, curing the winter's smart;
The hand is warm in another hand, the heart is safe with a heart.
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Part II. THE FIRST OF SPRING
There was a sound of whistling wings over the house last night,
And the wild duck dropped in the creek below, resting upon their flight;
Now the mallard with his emerald neck is swimming round in the light.
And the wild duck dropped in the creek below, resting upon their flight;
Now the mallard with his emerald neck is swimming round in the light.
A warm wind from the mountains came pouring like a tide,
The strong chinook has broken the heart of winter's icy pride,
And the snow has all gone up like smoke from a prairie sunny and wide.
The strong chinook has broken the heart of winter's icy pride,
And the snow has all gone up like smoke from a prairie sunny and wide.
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Here are grey buds of the “crocus,” but shut and silvery dim,
Along the creek there are mouse-ears on the willows red and slim;
A blue tit feeds there upside down in the manner approved by him.
Along the creek there are mouse-ears on the willows red and slim;
A blue tit feeds there upside down in the manner approved by him.
Hill snows melt and rush in streams bubbling and dark as wine;
Cattle are drifting out of the hills—well do we know that sign!
And the soft clouds rolling across the blue have a beauty half divine.
Cattle are drifting out of the hills—well do we know that sign!
And the soft clouds rolling across the blue have a beauty half divine.
New grass and sweet will soon be here, and the patient herds grow strong;
We will forget the cruel frost and all the winter's wrong;
None can be glad as we are glad unless they have waited as long.
We will forget the cruel frost and all the winter's wrong;
None can be glad as we are glad unless they have waited as long.
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A HUSH SONG.
Sleep, little child, sleep softly here,
Angels of God are watching near;
Thou shalt be safe—lay down thy head!—
With their white wings above thee spread.
Angels of God are watching near;
Thou shalt be safe—lay down thy head!—
With their white wings above thee spread.
Sleep, little child, nor fear the night,
After the dark comes morning light.
Angels return their Home to see,
God looketh down and loveth thee
After the dark comes morning light.
Angels return their Home to see,
God looketh down and loveth thee
| Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill | |