THE MIND OF THE MYSTIC.
Caverns deep and fathomless,
Heights too steep for thought to climb,
Mazes whose key is ecstacy,
Music too sweet for words to speak,
Visions that fleet through aerial dreams,
Woe so drear no hopes can cheer,
Joy that comes with boundless love
Rippling from its source above!
A MONTREAL LULLABY.
The swishing of passing motors,
The rumbling of city cars,
The click and the clack of horses
That sharply accent the bars,
The boom of important freighters,
The whiz of the swifter train
Which slows, with a hushing whisper
To toot of canal refrain.
And, striking its note of rawness,
The hoot of the motor horn
Is shrieking erratic discord,
To show its true Georgian scorn
Of soothing Victorian rhythm;
As sweetly and softly chimes
The old English clock in hallway.
Its tick and its tick make rhymes.
And I sink into slumber
Counting slowly their number,
Tick tick—tick tick—tick—
L’ESPERANCE.
La nuit, en pleurs, s’évanouit,
D’un air vainqueur le jour s’avance,
Et le rayon de l’espérance
Chasse les craintes de la nuit.