Duncan Campbell Scott

(2 August 1862 – 19 December 1947 / Ottawa, Ontario)

Duncan Campbell Scott Poems

1. The Fallen 8/31/2015
2. Mist And Frost 4/19/2010
3. Mid-August 4/19/2010
4. The Apparition 4/19/2010
5. Madonna With Two Angels 4/19/2010
6. Ode For The Keats Centenary 1/3/2003
7. Meditation At Perugia 4/19/2010
8. Stone Breaking 1/3/2003
9. New Year's Night, 1916 4/19/2010
10. Life And Death 4/19/2010
11. Night 4/19/2010
12. Rapids At Night 1/3/2003
13. Permanence 1/3/2003
14. O Turn Once More 4/19/2010
15. The Wood By The Sea 4/19/2010
16. To A Canadian Lad Killed In The War 4/19/2010
17. The Closed Door 4/19/2010
18. The Battle Of Lundy's Lane 4/19/2010
19. Night Burial In The Forest 4/19/2010
20. The Beggar And The Angel 4/19/2010
21. The Wood-Spring To The Poet 4/19/2010
22. To The Heroic Soul 4/19/2010
23. Frost Magic 4/19/2010
24. Off Riviere Du Loup 4/19/2010
25. Song 4/19/2010
26. The November Pansy 4/19/2010
27. The Builder 4/19/2010
28. The Voice And The Dusk 4/19/2010
29. The Sea By The Wood 4/19/2010
30. Willow-Pipes 4/19/2010
31. Lines In Memory Of Edmund Morris 4/19/2010
32. The Sailor's Sweetheart 4/19/2010
33. In Snow-Time 4/19/2010
34. Spring On Mattagmi 4/19/2010
35. The Leaf 4/19/2010
36. To A Canadian Aviator Who Died For His Country In France 1/3/2003
37. A Legend Of Christ's Nativity 4/19/2010
38. At Sea 4/19/2010
39. The Lover To His Lass 4/19/2010
40. At The Gill-Nets 4/19/2010
Best Poem of Duncan Campbell Scott

The Forsaken

I
Once in the winter
Out on a lake
In the heart of the north-land,
Far from the Fort
And far from the hunters,
A Chippewa woman
With her sick baby,
Crouched in the last hours
Of a great storm.
Frozen and hungry,
She fished through the ice
With a line of the twisted
Bark of the cedar,
And a rabbit-bone hook
Polished and barbed;
Fished with the bare hook
All through the wild day,
Fished and caught nothing;
While the young chieftain
Tugged at her breasts,
Or slept in the lacings
Of the warm tikanagan.
All the ...

Read the full of The Forsaken

Permanence

Set within a desert lone,
Circled by an arid sea,
Stands a figure carved in stone,
Where a fountain used to be.

Two abraded, pleading hands
Held below a shapeless mouth,
Human-like the fragment stands,
Tortured by perpetual drouth.

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