Archibald Lampman

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

Archibald Lampman Poems

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

Comments about Archibald Lampman

  • Paul Reed Paul Reed (12/18/2013 8:26:00 AM)

    Haunting and inspriing poetry

    8 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
Best Poem of Archibald Lampman

A Night Of Storm

Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown,
With restless drift, scarce broken now of any,
Out of the dark thy windows dim and many
Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none,
Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan,
From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken
In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken,
Dense as night's darkness round they towers of stone.

Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;
More dark and strange thy veiled agony,
City of storm, in whose grey heart are hidden
What stormier woes, what lives that ...

Read the full of A Night Of Storm

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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