Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

(10 January 1860 – 26 November 1943 / Douglas, New Brunswick)

Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts Poems

1. Afoot 4/16/2010
2. All Night The Lone Cicada 4/16/2010
3. An April Adoration 4/16/2010
4. An Epitaph For A Husbandman 1/1/2004
5. Ascription 4/16/2010
6. At The Gates Of Spring 4/16/2010
7. Ave! (An Ode For The Shelley Centenary, 1892) 1/1/2004
8. Bat, Bat, Come Under My Hat 1/1/2004
9. Cambrai And Marne 4/16/2010
10. Canada 1/1/2004
11. Canadian Streams 1/1/2004
12. Grey Rocks, And Greyer Sea 1/4/2003
13. Hilltop Song 4/16/2010
14. In An Old Barn 1/1/2004
15. Monition 1/1/2004
16. O Earth, Sufficing All Our Needs 1/1/2004
17. Philander's Song 1/1/2004
18. Tantramar Revisited 1/1/2004
19. The Aim 4/16/2010
20. The Autumn Thistles 1/1/2004
21. The Clearing 1/1/2004
22. The Cow Pasture 1/1/2004
23. The Departing Of Gluskâp 1/1/2004
24. The Frosted Pane 1/1/2004
25. The Great And Little Weavers 1/1/2004
26. The Hawkbit 4/16/2010
27. The Herring Weir 1/1/2004
28. The Iceberg 1/1/2004
29. The Potato Harvest 1/1/2004
30. The Recessional 1/4/2003
31. The Salt Flats 1/1/2004
32. The Skater 1/1/2004
33. The Solitary Woodsman 1/1/2004
34. The Sower 4/16/2010
35. Twilight On Sixth Avenue At Ninth Street 1/1/2004
36. Wayfarer Of Earth 4/16/2010
37. When The Sleepy Man Comes 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

Monition

A faint wind, blowing from World's End,
Made strange the city street.
A strange sound mingled in the fall
Of the familiar feet.
Something unseen whirled with the leaves
To tap on door and sill.
Something unknown went whispering by
Even when the wind was still.
And men looked up with startled eyes
And hurried on their way,
As if they had been called, and told
How brief their day.

Read the full of Monition

In An Old Barn

Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay
O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,
Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,
Though few flies wander his secluded way.
Through a high chink one lonely golden ray,
Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred.
In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,
Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.
Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,

[Hata Bildir]