Читать книгу A Treasury of Canadian Verse, with Brief Biographical Notes - Группа авторов - Страница 33

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QUEBEC, the grey old city on the hill,

Lies with a golden glory on her head,

Dreaming throughout this hour so fair, so still,

Of other days and all her mighty dead.

The white doves perch upon the cannons grim,

The flowers bloom where once did run a tide

Of crimson, when the moon rose pale and dim

Above the battlefield so grim and wide.

Methinks within her wakes a mighty glow

Of pride, of tenderness—her stirring past—

The strife, the valor, of the long ago

Feels at her heartstrings. Strong, and tall, and vast,

She lies, touched with the sunset's golden grace,

A wondrous softness on her grey old face.