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Pine,
Rose and Fleur de Lis
by
Susie Frances Harrison
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ENTR'ACTE
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Yes;
we linger, though we know
Fairer scenes await below,
Fairer to our western eyes
Through the medium of surprise
Than perhaps they really show,
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Yet
we linger, loath to go.
We would not be held ingrate,
Nor a tithe of love abate
For the blue Adagio
Of our own Ontario;
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We would
not be sycophant,
Changeable and complaisant,
Never would we seek to raise
Just a mount of paraphrase,
Rant and rhetoric, and varnish
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Thick
with flattery, then garnish
All with jeweled gauds and tropes,
(Gems that very quickly tarnish)
Frantic flights and hectic hopes.
Though, I say, I do not seek
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That
my rhyming should bespeak
Overpraise for that sweet strip,
Strip of sparkling shores that dip
In St. Laurent’s hallowed wave—
And although I do not hold
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That
my native air is cold,
Wholly damp and destitute
Of the kind of warmer fruit
All my soul doth warmly crave,
Still the blue Adagio
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And
the placid boundless flow
Of my own Ontario
Doth oppress me, doth not please,
As the lesser royalties,
Livelier currents, tawny, brown,
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Lucent,
shimmering, flowing down
Past each spire-deckt little town.
Thus to you I fain would show
First the foaming Gatineau;
And the wild prestissimo
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Of its
snowy cascades, set
Round about with violet
Shadows cast by mighty pines;
All the hues that dawn divines
In the rolling lumber, wet,
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Sun-fired
jasper, glassy jet.
Yes! these pulsing currents run
Swifter, subtler, while they shun
Travelled paths and common gaze,
Following shyer, sweeter ways.
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This
is where we next shall go—
Up the gleaming Gatineau.
Leap—the heart, and flash—the eye!
Let who will go on, pass by—
We at least have come to stay
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—Where
the habitant hath sway!
So—away!
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