“My seams gape wide so I'm tossed asideTo rot on a lonely shore,While the leaves and mould like a shroud unfold, For the last of my trails are o'er,But I float in dreams on Northland streams That never again I'll see,As I lie on the marge of the old portage With grief for company.When the sunset gilds the timbered hills That guard Timagami,And the moon beams play on far James Bay By the brink of the frozen sea,In phantom guise my spirit flies As the dream blades dip and swingWhere the waters flow from the Long Ago In the spell of the beck'ning spring.Do the cow-moose call on the MontrealWhen the first frost bites the air,And the mists unfold from the red and gold That the autumn ridges wear?When the white falls roar as they did of yore On the Lady Evelyn,Do the square-tail leap from the black pool deep Where the pictured rocks begin?Oh! the fur fleet sings on Temiscaming As the ashen paddles bend,And the crews carouse at Rupert's House At the sullen winter's end;But my days are done where the lean wolves run, And I ripple no more the path,Where the grey geese race 'cross the red moon's face From the white winds Arctic wrath.Tho' the death-fraught way from the Saguenay To the storied Nipigon,Once knew me well, now a crumbling shell I watch as the years roll on,And in memory's haze I live the days That forever are gone from me,As I rot on the marge of the old portage With grief for company.”

“To the sea, to the sea! The white gulls are crying,The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.West, west away, the round sun is falling, Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling, The voices of my people that have gone before me? I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;For our days are ending and our years failing.I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!”

“So far, in the room itself there had not been a sound. When the clock had struck ten, as it seemed to me, years ago, there came a rustling noise, from the direction of the bed. Feet stepped upon the floor,— moving towards where I was lying. It was, of course, now broad day, and I, presently, perceived that a figure, clad in some queer coloured garment, was standing at my side, looking down at me. It stooped, then knelt. My only covering was unceremoniously thrown from off me, so that I lay there in my nakedness. Fingers prodded me then and there, as if I had been some beast ready for the butcher’s stall. A face looked into mine, and, in front of me, were those dreadful eyes. Then, whether I was dead or living, I said to myself that this could be nothing human,— nothing fashioned in God’s image could wear such a shape as that. Fingers were pressed into my cheeks, they were thrust into my mouth, they touched my staring eyes, shut my eyelids, then opened them again, and— horror of horrors!— the blubber lips were pressed to mine— the soul of something evil entered into me in the guise of a kiss.”

“Well I knew when I first laid eyes on herI could never be freeOne look at her and I knew right awayShe should always be with meWell the dream dried up a long time agoDon't know where it is anymoreTrue to life, true to meWas the girl from the red river shoreWell I'm wearing the cloak of miseryAnd I've tasted jilted loveAnd the frozen smile upon my faceFits me like a gloveWell I can't escape from the memoryOf the one I'll always adoreAll those nights when I lay in the armsOf the girl from the red river shoreWell we're living in the shadows of a fading pastTrapped in the fires of timeI've tried not to ever hurt anybodyAnd to stay out of the life of crimeAnd when it's all been said and doneI never did know the scoreOne more day is another day awayFrom the girl from the red river shore.”

“Sea-feverI must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tideIs a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-roverAnd quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.”

“Clown in the Moon"My tears are like the quiet driftOf petals from some magic rose;And all my grief flows from the riftOf unremembered skies and snows.I think, that if I touched the earth,It would crumble;It is so sad and beautiful,So tremulously like a dream.”

“Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass growsThe West Wind goes walking, and about the walls it goes.What news from the West, oh wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight?Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?‘I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey;I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed awayInto the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more.The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.’Oh, Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar.But you came not from the empty lands where no men are. From the mouth of the sea the South Wind flies,From the sand hills and the stones;The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moansWhat news from the South, oh sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve?Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.‘Ask me not where he doth dwell--so many bones there lieOn the white shores and on the black shores under the stormy sky;So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing sea.Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!’Oh Boromir! Beyond the gate the Seaward road runs South,But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey seas mouth. From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides,And past the roaring fallsAnd loud and cold about the Tower its loud horn calls.What news from the North, oh mighty wind, do you bring to me today?What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away.‘Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he foughtHis cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought.His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest;And Rauros, Golden Rauros Falls, bore him upon its breast.’Oh Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gazeTo Rauros, Golden Rauros Falls until the end of days.”