Across the lake the rugged islands lie,
Fir-crowned and grim; and further in the view
Some shadows seeming swung ’twixt cloud and sky,
Are countless shores, a symphony of blue.

Some northern sorceress, when day is done,
Hovers where cliffs uplift their gaunt grey steeps,
Bewitching to vermilion Rosseau’s sun,
That in a liquid mass of rubies sleeps.

The scent of burning leaves, the camp-fire’s blaze,
The great logs cracking in the brilliant flame,
The groups grotesque, on which the firelight plays,
Are pictures which Muskoka twilights frame.

And Night, star-crested, wanders up the mere
With opiates for idleness to quaff,
And while she ministers, far off I hear
The owl’s uncanny cry, the wild loon’s laugh.

THE BIRDS’ LULLABY

I

Sing to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping
  With shadowy garments, the wilderness through;
All day we have carolled, and now would be sleeping,
  So echo the anthems we warbled to you;
        While we swing, swing,
        And your branches sing,
    And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.

II

Sing to us, cedars; the night-wind is sighing,
  Is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply;
And here in your arms we are restfully lying,
  And longing to dream to your soft lullaby;
        While we swing, swing,
        And your branches sing,
    And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.

III

Sing to us, cedars; your voice is so lowly,
  Your breathing so fragrant, your branches so strong;
Our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly,
  While zephyrs are breathing their slumberous song. 
        And we swing, swing,
        While your branches sing,
    And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.

OVERLOOKED

Sleep, with her tender balm, her touch so kind,
        Has passed me by;
Afar I see her vesture, velvet-lined,
        Float silently;
O!  Sleep, my tired eyes had need of thee! 
Is thy sweet kiss not meant to-night for me?

Peace, with the blessings that I longed for so,
        Has passed me by;
Where’er she folds her holy wings I know
        All tempests die;
O!  Peace, my tired soul had need of thee! 
Is thy sweet kiss denied alone to me?

Love, with her heated touches, passion-stirred,
        Has passed me by. 
I called, “O stay thy flight,” but all unheard
        My lonely cry: 
O!  Love, my tired heart had need of thee! 
Is thy sweet kiss withheld alone from me?

Sleep, sister-twin of Peace, my waking eyes
        So weary grow! 
O!  Love, thou wanderer from Paradise,
        Dost thou not know
How oft my lonely heart has cried to thee? 
But Thou, and Sleep, and Peace, come not to me.