Peace to his poet soul. Full well he knew To sing for those who know not how to praise The woodsman's life, the farmer's patient toil, The peaceful drama of laborious days. He made his own the thoughts of simple men, And with the touch that makes the world akin A welcome guest of lonely cabin homes, Found, too, no heart he could not enter in. The toilworn doctor, women, children, men, The humble heroes of the lumber drives, Love, laugh, or weep along his peopled verse, Blithe 'mid the pathos of their meagre lives. While thus the poet-love interpreted, He left us pictures no one may forget - Courteau, Batiste, Camille mon frere and best, The good brave cure, he of Calumette. With nature as with man at home, he loved The silent forest and the birches flight Down the white peril of the rapids' rush, And the cold glamour of your Northern night. Some mystery of genius haunts his page. Some wonder secret of the poet's spell Died with this master of the peasant thought. Peace to your Northland singer, and farewell! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTLEY: MUSIC by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE SONNET: 9 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL TWELVE ARTICLES by JONATHAN SWIFT IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 23 by ALFRED TENNYSON OUR SOLDIERS' SANTIAGO SONG by DAVID GRAHAM ADEE THE ALTAR STONE by RICHARD ALEXANDER RETURN OF THE NATIVE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |