The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
Northern PinesArthur Stringer (18741950)
I
Stand thick in the crowded street,
Where the groves of Dream and Silence
Are paced by feverish feet.
My homesick heart goes forth
To the pine-clad hills of childhood,
To the dark and tender North.
And I thrill to the Northland cold,
Where the sunset falls in silence
On the hills of gloom and gold!
And I know the waiting eyes
Of my North, as a child’s, are tender,
As a sorrowing mother’s, wise!