The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
The WhitethroatTheodore Harding Rand (18351900)
S
That cleave our Northern air so clear,
Thy notes prolong, prolong,
I listen, I hear:
‘I—love—dear—Canada,
Canada, Canada.’
Screen of a swelling patriot heart,
The copse is all astir,
And echoes thy part!…
As the noise of the day dies down;
And silence strings her lutes,
The Whitethroat to crown….
Shy poet of Canada dear,
Thy notes prolong, prolong,
We listen, we hear:
‘I—love—dear—Canada,
Canada, Canada.’