At Minas Basin and Other Poems — A Willow at Grand Pré

A WILLOW AT GRAND PRÉ.

The fitful rustle of thy sea-green leaves Tells of the homeward tide, and free-blown air Upturns thy gleaming leafage like a share,-- A silvery foam thy bosom, as it heaves!

O peasant tree, the regal Bay doth bare Its throbbing breast to ebbs and floods--and grieves!

O slender fronds, pale as a moonbeam weaves, Joy woke your strain that trembles to despair!

Willow of Normandy, say, do the birds Of Motherland plain in thy sea-chant low, Or voice of those who brought thee in the ships To tidal vales of Acadie?

--Vain words!

Grief unassuaged makes moan that Gaspereau Bore on its flood the fleet with iron lips!