Low Tide on Grand Pré: A Book of Lyrics — In Lyric Season

To-night can bring no healing now;

The calm of yesternight is gone;

Surely the wind is but the wind, And I a broken waif thereon.

IN LYRIC SEASON

The lyric April time is forth With lyric mornings, frost and sun;

From leaguers vast of night undone Auroral mild new stars are born.

And ever at the year's return, Along the valleys gray with rime, Thou leadest as of old, where time Can naught but follow to thy sway.

The trail is far through leagues of spring, And long the quest to the white core Of harvest quiet, yet once more I gird me to the old unrest.

I know I shall not ever meet Thy still regard across the year, And yet I know thou wilt draw near, When the last hour of pain and loss