Duncan Campbell Scott

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

Duncan Campbell Scott Poems

41. Rain And The Robin 1/3/2003
42. Rapids At Night 1/3/2003
43. Song 4/19/2010
44. Spring On Mattagmi 4/19/2010
45. Stone Breaking 1/3/2003
46. The Apparition 4/19/2010
47. The Battle Of Lundy's Lane 4/19/2010
48. The Beggar And The Angel 4/19/2010
49. The Builder 4/19/2010
50. The Closed Door 4/19/2010
51. The Fallen 8/31/2015
52. The Forgers 4/19/2010
53. The Forsaken 1/3/2003
54. The Ghost's Story 4/19/2010
55. The Half-Breed Girl 1/3/2003
56. The Harvest 1/3/2003
57. The Height Of Land 1/3/2003
58. The Leaf 4/19/2010
59. The Lover To His Lass 4/19/2010
60. The Message 1/3/2003
61. The November Pansy 4/19/2010
62. The Onondaga Madonna 1/3/2003
63. The Sailor's Sweetheart 4/19/2010
64. The Sea By The Wood 4/19/2010
65. The Violet Pressed In A Copy Of Shakespeare 1/3/2003
66. The Voice And The Dusk 4/19/2010
67. The Wood By The Sea 4/19/2010
68. The Wood-Spring To The Poet 4/19/2010
69. Three Songs 4/19/2010
70. To A Canadian Aviator Who Died For His Country In France 1/3/2003
71. To A Canadian Lad Killed In The War 4/19/2010
72. To The Heroic Soul 4/19/2010
73. When Spring Goes By 1/3/2003
74. Willow-Pipes 4/19/2010

Comments about Duncan Campbell Scott

  • Tracy Shields (10/24/2009 5:08:00 PM)

    Imagine Hitler's work continuing on in history, with no end in sight. Imagine Hitler's work continuing for so long that citizens got used to an everending holocaust. Now you understand Duncan Campbell Scott.

    Thoughts from The Circle Game, Roland Chrisjohn and Sherri Young

    11 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
Best Poem of Duncan Campbell Scott


Come to me when grief is over,
When the tired eyes,
Seek thy cloudy wings to cover
Close their burning skies.

Come to me when tears have dwindled
Into drops of dew,
When the sighs like sobs re-kindled
Are but deep and few.

Hold me like a crooning mother,
Heal me of the smart;
All mine anguish let me smother
In thy brooding heart.

Read the full of Angel


A deep bell that links the downs
To the drowsy air;
Every loop of sound that swoons,
Finds a circle fair,
Whereon it doth rest and fade;
Every stroke that dins is laid
Like a node,
Spinning out the quivering, fine,
Vibrant tendrils of a vine:

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