The Song of the Summer Cloud.

    I am arrayed in light and shade,
        A free-born spirit of air;
    A fanciful theme like a twilight dream,
        Or a maiden young and fair.

    And now I float like a phantom boat
        With a vague and varying hue,
    Fading from sight in the beams of light
        On an ocean clear and blue.

    And now I am wooed by the wind so rude,
        As he rushes in fury past,
    Who his bride doth crown with a darkening frown
        As I ride in the car of the blast.

    And down I pour 'mid the thunder's roar
        While the lightnings gleam and glare,
    Till the floods resound as they burst their bound
        And laugh at what man can dare.

    And now he is flown and has left me alone
        To brood in bereavement and woe,
    And I hang like a pall while the rain-drops fall
        Like tear-drops steady and slow.

    But again he returns when my gloom he discerns,
        And subdues his dark spirit of storms;
    And the shower descends while the rainbow blends
        And the sunshine brightens and warms.

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

Wolfe.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Success.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Sometimes my Heart by cruel Care Opprest.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

On Charles Lamb's Sonnet, "Work."

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

English

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Songs Of The Summer Days

    I.

    A glory on the chamber wall!
    A glory in the brain!
    Triumphant floods of glory fall
    On heath, and wold, and plain.

    Earth lieth still in hopeless bliss;
    She has, and seeks no more;
    Forgets that days come after this,
    Forgets the days before.

    Each ripple waves a flickering fire
    Of gladness, as it runs;
    They laugh and flash, and leap and spire,
    And toss ten thousand suns.

    But hark! low, in the world within,
    One sad aeolian tone:
    "Ah! shall we ever, ever win
    A summer of our own?"


    II.

    A morn of winds and swaying trees--
    Earth's jubilance rushing out!
    The birds are fighting with the breeze;
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In Anticipation Of Autumn.

But now the Summer hastens to its close,
And soon will Song a different aspect wear,
Sweeping terrific, clad in ghostly snows,
And lit by the flash of the Boreal glare,
Or, but a poet in his easy chair;
And her most pleasing aspect now beguiles
What time is hers with deft, endearing air:
With gorgeous gold she decks her garments, whiles
Her melancholy face with Indian Summer smiles.

Thy very smile sends sadness to my heart.
Farewell! sweet love, the happy hour is o'er:
Too well I knew that we again must part.
Her garments trail the fond, reluctant floor.
But I shall ne'er forget the dress she wore,
Her looks, her words, the pleasing song she sung -
'Tis melody will charm me more and more,
'Tis music that will keep my spirit young,
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W. M. MacKeracher

Songs Of The Summer Nights

    I.

    The dreary wind of night is out,
    Homeless and wandering slow;
    O'er pale seas moaning like a doubt,
    It breathes, but will not blow.

    It sighs from out the helpless past,
    Where doleful things abide;
    Gray ghosts of dead thought sail aghast
    Across its ebbing tide.

    O'er marshy pools it faints and flows,
    All deaf and dumb and blind;
    O'er moor and mountain aimless goes--
    The listless woesome wind!

    Nay, nay!--breathe on, sweet wind of night!
    The sigh is all in me;
    Flow, fan, and blow, with gentle might,
    Until I wake and see.


    II.

    The west is broken into bars
    Of orange, gold, and gray;
    Gone is the sun, fast come the stars,

George MacDonald

The Summer Shower.

The eve is still and silent and above the tinted plain
The passing clouds are driving gentle showers of summer rain,
And the scent of hay-strewn meadows and the fresh-besprinkled ground
Is mingling with the perfume of the flowers that bloom around.

Off I wander and I stroke the gleeful spaniel at my side,
And, delighted with each other, do we ramble far and wide,
While a ditty is the tribute to the joy that gives it birth,
And the leaves, refreshed, are pouring their cool nectar to the earth.

Oh let me gaze again upon the moisture-laden sky,
Let me see the rolling masses, let me hear the plover's cry,
While enveloping the distant mountain-summits like a shroud,
Like a head bent down and hoary, hangs a heavy wreath of cloud.

Let me gaze upon the sunshine as it br...

Lennox Amott

Summer Rain

O rain, Summer Rain! forever,
    Out of the crystal spheres,
And cool from my brain the fever,
    And wash from my eyes the tears

Stir gently the blossoming clover,
    In the hollows dewy and deep,--
Somewhere they are blossoming over
    The spot where I shall sleep.

Asleep from this wearisome aching,
    With my arms crossed under my head,
I shall hear without awaking,
    The rain that blesses the dead.

And the ocean of man's existence,--
    The surges of toil and care,
Shall break and die in the distance,
    But never reach me there.

And yet--I fancy it often--
    I should stir in my shrouded sleep,
And struggle to rise in my coffin,
    If he came there to weep.

Among the dead--or the angels--
 ...

Kate Seymour Maclean

A Summer Day

White clouds, like thistledown at fault,
That drift through heaven's azure vault.
The sun beams down; the weedy ground
Vibrates with many an insect sound.
Blackberry-lilies in the noon
Lean to the creek with eyes a-swoon,
Where, in a shallow, silver gleams
Of minnows and a heron dreams
An old road, clouding pale the heat
Behind a slow hoof's muffled beat:
And there, hill-gazing at the skies,
A pond, within whose languor lies
A twinkle, like an eye that smiles
In thought; that with a dream beguiles
The day: a. dream of clouds that drift,
And arms the willow trees uplift,
Protectingly, as if to hide
The wildbird on its nest that cried.
Now mists that mass thesunset-dyes
Build an Arabia in the skies,
Through which the sun in pomp retires,

Madison Julius Cawein