“When George Was King” and Other Poems

by Emily Pauline Johnson

 

The Trail to Lillooet

 
Sob of fall, and song of forest, come you here on haunting quest,
Calling through the seas and silence, from God’s country of the             west.
Where the mountain pass is narrow, and the torrent white and             strong,
Down its rocky-throated canon, sings its golden-throated song.

You are singing there together through the God-begotten nights,
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And the leaning stars are listening above the distant heights
That lift like points of opal in the crescent coronet
About whose golden setting sweeps the trail to Lillooet.

Trail that winds and trail that wanders, like a cobweb hanging             high,
Just a hazy thread outlining mid-way of the stream and sky,
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Where the Fraser River Canon yawns its pathway to the sea,
But half the world has shouldered up between its song and me.

Here, the placid English August, and the sea-encircled miles,
There—God’s copper-coloured sunshine beating through the             lonely aisles
Where the water fall and forest voice for ever their duet,
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And call across the canon on the trail to Lillooet. [Page 6]