Explore "A Canadian Calendar: XII Lyrics" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O gold is the West and gold the river-waters / Washing past the sides of my yellow birch canoe, / Gold are the great drops that fall from my paddle, / The far-off hills cry a golden word of you.
I can almost see you! Where its own shadow / Creeps down the hill's side, gradual and slow. / There you stand waiting; the goldenrod and thistle / Glad of you beside them -- the fairest thing they know.