The Lure of the North
By CATHERINE L. NASON
Poets tell of the sunny climes
And speak in beautiful lines
Of the flowers, the birds and song
Of Summer’s rapturous throng.
They liken it to the freshness of the dew,
They speak of smiling skies of blue.
The awakening bud–the breath of June
Is ever the same old poet’s tune.
But I would speak of the dazzling snows
That only our great Northland knows.
There is a beauty yet untold
A majestic power a poet cannot unfold.
There is a rapture in plains of virgin-white
In the snow-clad mountain height,
And a solemnity so deep–austere
That one feels a God-like presence near.
There is a wonder in the deep, deep silence,
And the mighty wind’s defiance
Mingled with the Spirit of Unconquered Might
And the undefined mystery of the night.
The call of the North I cannot define,
It has a lure of the great–sublime.
Man is a being as yet too small
To explain or resist the Northland’s call.
