38 
ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA 
LAURENTIAN SUMMER. 
I am sailing to the leeward, 
Where the current runs to seaward, 
Soft and slow; 
Where the sleeping river-grasses 
Brush my paddle as it passes 
To and fro. 
On the shore the heat is shaking, 
All the golden sands awaking 
In the cove; 
And the quaint sandpiper, winging 
O’er the shallows, ceases singing 
When I move. 
On the water’s idle pillow 
Sleeps the overhanging willow, 
Green and cool; 
Where the rushes lift their burnished 
Oval heads from out the tarnished 
Emerald pool. 
Where the very water slumbers, 
Water-lilies grow in numbers, 
Pure and pale; 
All the morning they have rested, 
Amber-crowned and pearly-crested, 
Fair and frail. 
Here, impossible romances, 
Indefinable sweet fancies, 
Cluster round; 
But they do not mar the sweetness 
Of this still, mid-summer fleetness 
With a sound. 
I can scarce discern the meeting 
Of the shore and stream retreating 
So remote; 
For the laggard river, dozing, 
Only wakes from its reposing 
Where I float. 
Where the river mists are rising, 
All the foliage baptizing 
With their spray, 
There the sun gleams far and faintly, 
With a shadow soft and saintly 
In its ray. 
