IN MUSKOKA <br /> <br />Lichens of green and grey on every side; <br />And green and grey the rocks beneath our feet; <br />Above our heads the canvas stretching wide; <br />And over all, enchantment rare and sweet. <br /> <br />Fair Rosseau slumbers in an atmosphere <br />That kisses her to passionless soft dreams. <br />O! joy of living we have found thee here, <br />And life lacks nothing, so complete it seems. <br /> <br />The velvet air, stirred by some elfin wings, <br />Comes swinging up the waters and then stills <br />Its voice so low that floating by it sings <br />Like distant harps among the distant hills. <br /> <br />Across the lake the rugged islands lie, <br />Fir-crowned and grim; and further in the view <br />Some shadows seeming swung 'twixt cloud and sky, <br />Are countless shores, a symphony of blue. <br /> <br />Some northern sorceress, when day is done, <br />Hovers where cliffs uplift their gaunt grey steeps, <br />Bewitching to vermilion Rosseau's sun, <br />That in a liquid mass of rubies sleeps. <br /> <br />The scent of burning leaves, the camp-fire's blaze, <br />The great logs cracking in the brilliant flame, <br />The groups grotesque, on which the firelight plays, <br />Are pictures which Muskoka twilights frame. <br /> <br />And Night, star-crested, wanders up the mere <br />With opiates for idleness to quaff, <br />And while she ministers, far off I hear <br />The owl's uncanny cry, the wild loon's laugh.<br /><br />Emily Pauline Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-canvas/
