Archibald Lampman

(17 November 1861 - 10 February 1899 / Morpeth, Ontario)

Archibald Lampman Poems

121. An Impression 4/8/2010
122. Snowbirds 4/8/2010
123. The Organist 4/8/2010
124. The Truth 4/8/2010
125. Midnight 1/1/2004
126. Alcyone 4/8/2010
127. An October Sunset 4/8/2010
128. An Ode To The Hills 4/8/2010
129. A Ballade Of Waiting 4/8/2010
130. The Growth Of Love Xi 1/1/2004
131. An Athenian Reverie 4/8/2010
132. After Rain 4/8/2010
133. Among The Millet 4/8/2010
134. In November (2) 1/1/2004
135. Among The Orchards 4/8/2010
136. The Railway Station 1/1/2004
137. Winter Break 4/8/2010
138. Solitude 4/8/2010
139. A Prayer 4/8/2010
140. Temagami 1/1/2004
141. Abu Midjan 4/8/2010
142. An Autumn Landscape 4/8/2010
143. Winter Uplands 1/1/2004
144. Morning On The Lièvre 1/1/2004
145. The City At The End Of Things 1/1/2004
146. To A Millionaire 1/1/2004
147. A Niagara Landscape 1/1/2004
148. Winter-Solitude 1/1/2004
149. In November (1) 1/1/2004
150. A Vision Of Twilight 4/8/2010
151. In October 4/8/2010
152. Winter Evening 1/1/2004
153. Voices Of Earth 1/1/2004
154. A January Morning 1/1/2004
155. Heat 1/1/2004
156. A Night Of Storm 4/8/2010
157. A Thunderstorm 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Archibald Lampman

A Thunderstorm

A moment the wild swallows like a flight
Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high,
Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky.
The leaves hang still. Above the weird twilight,
The hurrying centres of the storm unite
And spreading with huge trunk and rolling fringe,
Each wheeled upon its own tremendous hinge,
Tower darkening on. And now from heaven's height,
With the long roar of elm-trees swept and swayed,
And pelted waters, on the vanished plain
Plunges the blast. Behind the wild white flash
That splits abroad the pealing ...

Read the full of A Thunderstorm

Temagami

Far in the grim Northwest beyond the lines
That turn the rivers eastward to the sea,
Set with a thousand islands, crowned with pines,
Lies the deep water, wild Temagami:
Wild for the hunter's roving, and the use
Of trappers in its dark and trackless vales,
Wild with the trampling of the giant moose,
And the weird magic of old Indian tales.
All day with steady paddles toward the west

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