The White Canoe by Alan Sullivan — Read

Serie: The White Canoe And other Verse

There's a whisper of life in the grey dead trees,

And a murmuring wash on the shore,

And a breath of the South in the loitering breeze,

To tell that a winter is o'er.

While free, at last, from its fetters of ice

The river is clear and blue,

And cries with a tremulous quivering voice

For the launch of the White Canoe.

Oh, gently the ripples will kiss her side,

And tenderly bear her on; / For she is the wandering phantom bride / Of the river she rests upon; / She is loved with a love that cannot forget, / A passion so strong and true, / That never a billow has risen yet / To peril the White Canoe.

So come when the moon is enthroned in the sky, / And the echoes are sweet and low, / And Nature is full of the mystery / That none but her children know; / Come, taste of the rest that the weary crave, / But is only revealed to a few: / When there's trouble on shore, there's peace on the wave, / Afloat in the White Canoe.