Here you will find the Poem Morning On The Lievres of poet Archibald Lampman
Far above us where a jay Screams his matins to the day, Capped with gold and amethyst, Like a vapour from the forge Of a giant somewhere hid, Out of hearing of the clang Of his hammer, skirts of mist Slowly up the wooden gorge Lift and hang. Softly as a cloud we go, Sky above and sky below, Down the river, and the dip Of the paddles scarcely breaks, With the little silvery drip Of the water as it shakes From the blades, the crystal deep Of the silence of the morn, Of the forest yet asleep; And the river reaches borne In a mirror, purple grey, Sheer away To the misty line of light, Where the forest and the stream In a shadow meet and plight, Like a dream. From amid a stretch of reeds, Where the lazy river sucks All the water as it bleeds From a little curling creek, And the muskrats peer and sneak In around the sunken wrecks Of a tree that swept the skies Long ago, On a sudden seven ducks With a splashy rustle rise, Stretching out their seven necks, One before, and two behind, And the others all arow, And as steady as the wind With a snivelling whistle go, Through the purple shadow led, Till we only hear their whir In behind a rocky spur, Just ahead.
