As always, Canada will now bury its war dead, just as the rest of the world, as always, will forget its sacrifice, just as it always forgets nearly everything Canada ever does. It seems that Canada's historic mission is to come to the selfless aid both of its friends and of complete strangers, and then, once the crisis is over, to be well and truly ignored. Canada is the perpetual wallflower that stands on the edge of the hall, waiting for someone to come and ask her for a dance.
The foxglove, with its stately bells Of purple, shall adorn thy dells; The wallflower, on each rifted rock, From liberal blossoms shall breathe down, (Gold blossoms frecked with iron-brown,) Its fragrance; while the hollyhock, The pink, and the carnation vie With lupin and with lavender, To decorate the fading year; And larkspurs, many-hued, shall drive Gloom from the groves, where red leaves lie, And Nature seems but half alive.
By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave One scent to hyson and to wall-flower, One sound to pine-groves and to water-falls, One aspect to the desert and the lake. It was her stern necessity : all things Are of one pattern made; bird, beast, and flower, Song, picture, form, space, thought, and character Deceive us, seeming to be many things, And are but one.ralph waldo emerson
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