Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts, KCMG, FRSC was a Canadian poet and prose writer who is known as the Father of Canadian Poetry. He was "almost the first Canadian author to obtain worldwide reputation and influence; he was also a tireless promoter and encourager of Canadian literature.... He published numerous works on Canadian exploration and natural history, verse, travel books, and fiction." "At his death he was regarded as Canada's leading man of letters."
Besides his own body of work, Roberts is also called the "Father of Canadian Poetry" because he served as an inspiration and a source of assistance for other Canadian poets of his ... more »
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Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts Poems
A faint wind, blowing from World's End, Made strange the city street. A strange sound mingled in the fall Of the familiar feet.
O Earth, Sufficing All our Needs
O earth, sufficing all our needs, O you With room for body and for spirit too, How patient while your children vex their souls Devising alien heavens beyond your blue!
The Great and Little Weavers
The great and the little weavers, They neither rest nor sleep. They work in the height and the glory, They toil in the dark and the deep.
Stumps, and harsh rocks, and prostrate trunks all charred, And gnarled roots naked to the sun and rain,-- They seem in their grim stillness to complain, And be their paint the evening peace is jarred.
In an Old Barn
Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves, Up to the rafters where the spider weaves, Though few flies wander his secluded way.
Summers and summers have come, and gone with the flight of the swallow; Sunshine and thunder have been, storm, and winter, and frost; Many and many a sorrow has all but died from remembrance, Many a dream of joy fall'n in the shadow of pain.
Grey Rocks, and Greyer Sea
Grey rocks, and greyer sea, And surf along the shore -- And in my heart a name My lips shall speak no more.
O rivers rolling to the sea From lands that bear the maple-tree, How swell your voices with the strain Of loyalty and liberty!
The Autumn Thistles
The morning sky is white with mist, the earth White with the inspiration of the dew. The harvest light is on the hills anew, And cheer in the grave acres' fruitful girth.
Bat, Bat, Come Under my Hat
(A Modernity) Twelve good friends Passed under her hat, And devil a one of them
O Child of Nations, giant-limbed, Who stand'st among the nations now Unheeded, unadored, unhymned, With unanointed brow, --
The Frosted Pane
One night came Winter noiselessly, and leaned Against my window-pane. In the deep stillness of his heart convened The ghosts of all his slain.
The Cow Pasture
I see the harsh, wind-ridden, eastward hill, By the red cattle pastured, blanched with dew; The small, mossed hillocks where the clay gets through; The grey webs woven on milkweed tops at will.
(from "The Sprightly Pilgrim") I sat and read Anacreon. Moved by the gay, delicious measure I mused that lips were made for love,
Comments about Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
A faint wind, blowing from World's End,
Made strange the city street.
A strange sound mingled in the fall
Of the familiar feet.
Something unseen whirled with the leaves
To tap on door and sill.
Something unknown went whispering by
Even when the wind was still.
And men looked up with startled eyes
And hurried on their way,
As if they had been called, and told
How brief their day.