I have sat by night beside a cold lake And touched things smoother than moonlight on still water, But the moon on this cloud sea is not human, And here is no shore, no intimacy, Only the start of space, the road to suns.
1945 'Trans Canada'.
Hidden in wonder and snow, or sudden with summer, This land stares at the sun in a huge silence Endlessly repeating something we cannot hear. Inarticulate, arctic, Not written on by history, emptyas paper, It leans away from the world with songs in its lakes Older than love, and lost in the miles. 722F(rancis) R(eginald) Scott
Newspapersarebornfreeand everywhereareinchains. See Rousseau 700:41.F(rancis) R(eginald) Scott