Duncan Campbell Scott

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

Duncan Campbell Scott Poems

1. The Forsaken 1/3/2003
2. When Spring Goes By 1/3/2003
3. Angel 4/19/2010
4. The Onondaga Madonna 1/3/2003
5. The Half-Breed Girl 1/3/2003
6. At The Cedars 1/3/2003
7. Enigma 1/3/2003
8. Rain And The Robin 1/3/2003
9. The Message 1/3/2003
10. Ecstasy 4/19/2010
11. The Violet Pressed In A Copy Of Shakespeare 1/3/2003
12. Fragment Of An Ode To Canada 4/19/2010
13. A Love Song 4/19/2010
14. Dream Voyageurs 4/19/2010
15. By A Child's Bed 4/19/2010
16. Christmas Folk-Song 4/19/2010
17. Feuilles D'Automne 4/19/2010
18. An Impromptu 4/19/2010
19. Improvisation On An Old Song 4/19/2010
20. The Harvest 1/3/2003
21. Afterwards 1/3/2003
22. Night Hymns On Lake Nipigon 1/3/2003
23. The Height Of Land 1/3/2003
24. Avis 1/3/2003
25. From Shadow 1/3/2003
26. From 'Lines In Memory Of Edmund Morris' 4/19/2010
27. The Ghost's Story 4/19/2010
28. Angelus 1/3/2003
29. Elizabeth Speaks 4/19/2010
30. Three Songs 4/19/2010
31. From Beyond 4/19/2010
32. The Forgers 4/19/2010
33. Fantasia 4/19/2010
34. At The Gill-Nets 4/19/2010
35. At William Maclennan's Grave 4/19/2010
36. The Lover To His Lass 4/19/2010
37. At Sea 4/19/2010
38. A Legend Of Christ's Nativity 4/19/2010
39. To A Canadian Aviator Who Died For His Country In France 1/3/2003
40. The Leaf 4/19/2010
Best Poem of Duncan Campbell Scott

The Forsaken

I
Once in the winter
Out on a lake
In the heart of the north-land,
Far from the Fort
And far from the hunters,
A Chippewa woman
With her sick baby,
Crouched in the last hours
Of a great storm.
Frozen and hungry,
She fished through the ice
With a line of the twisted
Bark of the cedar,
And a rabbit-bone hook
Polished and barbed;
Fished with the bare hook
All through the wild day,
Fished and caught nothing;
While the young chieftain
Tugged at her breasts,
Or slept in the lacings
Of the warm tikanagan.
All the ...

Read the full of The Forsaken

Angelus

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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