My Own Canadian Girl.

    The demoiselles of sunny France
        Have gaiety and grace;
    Britannia's maids a tender glance,
        A sweet and gentle face;
    Columbia's virgins bring to knee
        Full many a duke and earl;
    But there is none can equal thee,
        My own Canadian girl.

    Thy hair is finer than the floss
        That tufts the ears of corn;
    Its tresses have a silken gloss,
        A glory like the morn;
    I prize the rich, luxuriant mass,
        And each endearing curl
    A special grace and beauty has,
        My own Canadian girl.

    Thy brow is like the silver moon
        That sails in summer skies,
    The mirror of a mind immune
        From care, serene and wise,
    Thy nose is sculptured ivory;
        Thine ears are lobes of pearl;
    Thy lips are corals from the sea,
        My own Canadian girl.

    Thine eyes are limpid pools of light,
        The windows of thy soul;
    The stars are not so clear and bright
        That shine around the pole.
    The crimson banners of thy cheeks
        To sun and wind unfurl;
    Thy tongue makes music when it speaks,
        My own Canadian girl.

    God keep thee fair and bright and good
        As in thy morning hour,
    And make thy gracious womanhood
        A still unfolding flow'r.
    And stay thy thoughts from trifles vain,
        Thy feet from folly's whirl,
    And guard thy life from every stain,
        My own Canadian girl!

W. M. MacKeracher

W. M. MacKeracher was a poet known for his contributions to Canadian literature during the early 20th century. His works often focused on themes of nature, human emotion, and the simplicity of rural life. Though not as widely known as some of his contemporaries, MacKeracher's poetry has been appreciated for its lyrical quality and depth. Much of his work was published in regional journals and anthologies, capturing the essence of Canadian landscapes and the human experience within them. His exact birth and death dates remain obscure.

W. M. MacKeracher

The Gold-Miners Of British Columbia.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

The Old And The New.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Lines written in an Album.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Sonnet to ---- .

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

English

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Canada, My Land.

    There may be more enchanting climes
        Within a southern zone;
    There may be eastern Edens deckt
        With charms to thee unknown;
    But thou art fairest unto me,
        Because thou art mine own,
            Canada, my land.

    More spacious plains and loftier heights
        In other realms may be,
    And mightier streams than those which bear
        Thy waters to the sea;
    But thou, great handiwork of God,
        Art grandest unto me,
            Canada, my land.

    More glorious records may adorn
        The annals of the past
    Than those which tell the rise and growth
        Of thy dominion vast;
    But I am proudest of the land
        In which my lot is cast,
            Canada, my land.

W. M. MacKeracher

The American Girls.

Yes! The land we love
Is a land of pretty girls,
In grand variety;
With their many colored eyes
And their multi-colored curls,
They'll steal thy heart from thee.

If you travel in the North,
One will gleam in glory forth,
With her blue eyes, O, so blue!
And her flash of golden hair
Will be flirting in the air,
While entrancing all the soul in you.
Oho! My Boy! Oho!

Always for your weal and never for your woe,
Your little heart will gallop on the go,
And it will not give you rest
Within your manly breast,
Till you land yourself in toto at her toe.
Oho! My Boy! Oho!

If you travel in the South,
You will find a rosy mouth,
And a black eye, O so black!
And some strands of raven hair
Will purloin your heart just th...

A. H. Laidlaw

O Canada, Mon Pays, Mes Amours.

    (Title of a French-Canadian song.)

    O Canada, my country and my love,
    Held in my heart all other lands above;
    To thee to whom my homage should belong
    I pay the cheerful tribute of my song,
    And swear allegiance as on bended knee,
    And vow undying fealty to thee,
    O Canada, my country and my love.

    I crave no land of epic story cast
    In giant shadows on the misty past;
    No land illustrious in former time,
    Which has outlived the vigor of its prime;
    No lordlier land renowned across the sea,
    Nor any other land on earth but thee,
    O Canada, my country and my love.

    Past is thy night of darkness and of tears;
    Thy radiant dawn hath driv'n away our fears;
    Thy sun in morning splendor ...

W. M. MacKeracher

Canadian-Born.

    Although I'm not unduly proud,
        Inordinately vain,
    But humble, as will be allowed,
        And modest in the main;
    I must confess to pride of birth,
        And all detractors warn
    To let alone one land on earth:
        I am Canadian-born.

    In one respect I fill the bill
        As well as any man
    Between Vancouver and Brazil,
        Morocco and Japan.
    From Hobart Town to Hammerfest,
        From Greenland to the Horn,
    My native land is much the best:
        I am Canadian-born.

    The Greeks beside their Hellespont
        Thought all but they were scum;
    The Latins loved the classic vaunt,
        "Civis Romanus sum."
    I'm not so impudent as they
        To hold the world in ...

W. M. MacKeracher

The Girl Of The U.S.A.

Oh! the maidens of France are certainly fine,
    And I think every fellow will state
That the 'what-you-may-call-it' coiffured way
    They put up their hair is great!
And they know how to dress, and they wear their clothes
    In a fetching, Frenchy way;
And yet to me, there is just one girl -
    The girl of the U.S.A.

I like to listen when French girls talk,
    Though I'm weak in the 'parlez-vous' game;
But the language of youth in every land
    Is somehow about the same,
And I've learned a regular code of shrugs,
    And they seem to know what I say!
But the girl whose voice goes straight to my heart
    Is the girl of the U.S.A.

I haven't a word but words of praise
    For these dear little girls of France;
And I will confess that...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The American Girl.

The maid for man to love,
All other forms above,
Is she whose home adorns the loam of this fair land of mine:
American in sire,
She's born of love and fire,
And dominates the heart of man as by a right divine.

By rhyming swain pursued,
She meets the puling dude,
Whose hopes to win are centered in his pale Platonic plan;
American in heart,
She spurns his petty part,
Then, speeds him to the army mess to prove himself a man.

With tact burned in the bone,
She stands herself, alone,
The peer of peers of ancient years, for highest functions fit;
American in head
Who woos her, she may wed,
If he hath grace, and wit, and worth, and sense, and soul and grit.

Alive, alert and sweet,
In rounded poise, complete,
Come any day wh...

A. H. Laidlaw