Make me over, mother April,
When the sap begins to stir!
When thy flowery hand delivers
All the mountain-prisoned rivers,
And thy great heart beats and quivers
To revive the days that were,
Make me over, mother April,
When the sap begins to...

Poet: Bliss Carman

To R. H.
NOW the joys of the road are chiefly these:

A crimson touch on the hard-wood trees;
A vagrant’s morning wide and blue,
In early fall, when the wind walks, too;
A shadowy highway cool and brown,
Alluring up and enticing down
From...

Poet: Bliss Carman

The Swarthy bee is a buccaneer,
A burly velveted rover,
Who loves the booming wind in his ear
As he sails the seas of clover.

A waif of the goblin pirate crew,
With not a soul to deplore him,
He steers for the open verge of blue
With the...

Poet: Bliss Carman

Oh, the shambling sea is a sexton old,
And well his work is done.
With an equal grave for lord and knave,
He buries them every one.

Then hoy and rip, with a rolling hip,
He makes for the nearest shore;
And God, who sent him a thousand ship,...

Poet: Bliss Carman

Hack and Hew were the sons of God
  In the earlier earth than now:
One at his right hand, one at his left,
  To obey as he taught them how.

And Hack was blind, and Hew was dumb,
  But both had the wild, wild heart;
And God’s calm will was their...

Poet: Bliss Carman