Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/163
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"Sh-sh-sh! . . . Look! . . . Over dere . . . look,my frien'!
On Mont du Père . . . he's moving little! . . . ain't? . . .
Under dose soft blue blanket she's falling down
On hill and valley! Somebody—somebody's dere! . . .
In dose hill of Mont du Pére, sleeping . . . sleeping. . ."
On Mont du Père . . . he's moving little! . . . ain't? . . .
Under dose soft blue blanket she's falling down
On hill and valley! Somebody—somebody's dere! . . .
In dose hill of Mont du Pére, sleeping . . . sleeping. . ."
And when the fingers of the sun, lingering,
Slipped gently from the marble brow of the glacier
Pillowed among the clouds, blue-veined and cool,
How, one by one, like lamps that flicker up
In a snow-bound hamlet in the valley, the stars
Lighted their candles mirrored in the waters . . .
And floating from the hills of Sleepy-eye,
Soft as the wings of dusty-millers flying,
The fitful syllables of the Baptism River
Mumbling among its caverns hollowly,
Shouldering its emerald sweep through cragged cascades
In a flood of wafted foam, fragile, flimsy
As luna-moths fluttering on a pool . . .
Slipped gently from the marble brow of the glacier
Pillowed among the clouds, blue-veined and cool,
How, one by one, like lamps that flicker up
In a snow-bound hamlet in the valley, the stars
Lighted their candles mirrored in the waters . . .
And floating from the hills of Sleepy-eye,
Soft as the wings of dusty-millers flying,
The fitful syllables of the Baptism River
Mumbling among its caverns hollowly,
Shouldering its emerald sweep through cragged cascades
In a flood of wafted foam, fragile, flimsy
As luna-moths fluttering on a pool . . .
"Caribou, you hear dat? . . . somebody's dere! . . .
Ain't . . . in dose hills of Mont du Père . . . sleeping.
Sh-sh-sh! . . . You hear-um? . . . dose far 'way Flute-reed Fall? . . .
Somebody's dere in Mont du Père, sleeping . . .
Somebody he's in dere de whole night long . . .
And w'ile he's sleep, he's talking little . . . talking. . ."
Ain't . . . in dose hills of Mont du Père . . . sleeping.
Sh-sh-sh! . . . You hear-um? . . . dose far 'way Flute-reed Fall? . . .
Somebody's dere in Mont du Père, sleeping . . .
Somebody he's in dere de whole night long . . .
And w'ile he's sleep, he's talking little . . . talking. . ."
Hush!—don't you hear K'tchée-gah-mée at midnight P—
That stretched far out from the banks of Otter-slide
To the dim wet rim of the world—North, East, West?—
That stretched far out from the banks of Otter-slide
To the dim wet rim of the world—North, East, West?—
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