Sir Charles GD Roberts
Sir Charles GD Roberts Poems
|1.||The Herring Weir||1/3/2003|
|3.||Bat, Bat, Come Under My Hat||1/3/2003|
|4.||An Epitaph For A Husbandman||1/3/2003|
|5.||O Earth, Sufficing All Our Needs||1/3/2003|
|6.||The Departing Of Gluskâp||1/3/2003|
|8.||The Salt Flats||1/3/2003|
|9.||The Great And Little Weavers||1/3/2003|
|10.||Ave! (An Ode For The Shelley Centennary, 1892)||1/3/2003|
|11.||The Frosted Pane||1/3/2003|
|12.||The Potato Harvest||1/3/2003|
|14.||Twilight On Sixth Avenue At Ninth Street||1/3/2003|
|15.||The Cow Pasture||1/3/2003|
|19.||In An Old Barn||1/3/2003|
|21.||The Autumn Thistles||1/3/2003|
|22.||The Solitary Woodsman||1/3/2003|
Comments about Sir Charles GD Roberts
My glad feet shod with the glittering steel
I was the god of the wingèd heel.
The hills in the far white sky were lost;
The world lay still in the wide white frost;
And the woods hung hushed in their long white dream
By the ghostly, glimmering, ice-blue stream.
Here was a pathway, smooth like glass,
Where I and the wandering wind might pass
To the far-off palaces, drifted deep,
Where Winter's retinue rests in sleep.
I followed the lure, I fled like a bird,
Till the startled hollows awoke and heard
A spinning whisper, a ...
The Potato Harvest
A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne
Aslant from sunset; amber wastes of sky
Washing the ridge; a clamour of crows that fly
In from the wide flats where the spent tides mourn
To yon their rocking roosts in pines wind-torn;
A line of grey snake-fence, that zigzags by
A pond and cattle; from the homestead nigh
The long deep summonings of the supper horn.