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WEST wind, blow from your prairie nest, | |
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. | |
The sail is idle, the sailor too; | |
O wind of the west, we wait for you! | |
Blow, blow! | 5 |
I have wooed you so, | |
But never a favor you bestow. | |
You rock your cradle the hills between, | |
But scorn to notice my white lateen. | |
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I stow the sail and unship the mast: | 10 |
I wooed you long, but my wooing’s past; | |
My paddle will lull you into rest: | |
O drowsy wind of the drowsy west, | |
Sleep, sleep! | |
By your mountains steep, | 15 |
Or down where the prairie grasses sweep, | |
Now fold in slumber your laggard wings, | |
For soft is the song my paddle sings. | |
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August is laughing across the sky, | |
Laughing while paddle, canoe and I | 20 |
Drift, drift, | |
Where the hills uplift | |
On either side of the current swift. | |
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The river rolls in its rocky bed, | |
My paddle is plying its way ahead, | 25 |
Dip, dip, | |
When the waters flip | |
In foam as over their breast we slip. | |
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And oh, the river runs swifter now; | |
The eddies circle about my bow: | 30 |
Swirl, swirl! | |
How the ripples curl | |
In many a dangerous pool awhirl! | |
And far to forward the rapids roar, | |
Fretting their margin for evermore; | 35 |
Dash, dash, | |
With a mighty crash, | |
They seethe and boil and bound and splash. | |
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Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe! | |
The reckless waves you must plunge into. | 40 |
Reel, reel, | |
On your trembling keel, | |
But never a fear my craft will feel. | |
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We’ve raced the rapids; we’re far ahead: | |
The river slips through its silent bed. | 45 |
Sway, sway, | |
As the bubbles spray | |
And fall in tinkling tunes away. | |
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And up on the hills against the sky, | |
A fir tree rocking its lullaby | 50 |
Swings, swings, | |
Its emerald wings, | |
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.
This poem is written by a Native American woman, E. Pauline Johnson. I like the feel of the paddle, and can feel both the rush of the rapids, and the peacefulness of the calm before and after. |
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