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Far
Horizons
by
Bliss Carman
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A
MIRAGE OF THE PLAINS
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AS I
stood on the bank of the river that runs by Saskatoon,
I saw the incredible happen in the sober light of
noon.
I looked out over the prairie as far as the eye
could see,
And never a stone as big as your hand, and never
the sign of a tree;
Only the golden stubble with the first light snow
between,
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| In the
fairy light of a primal world where beauty first
was seen.
Then far on the dipped horizon where the sailing
cloud-tops show,
I saw, like a ghost in the sunlight, a prairie
schooner go.
And after her labored others in a trailing caravan—
Lumbering, crude, ill-fitted—but they carried
the hope of man.
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A marvellous train unnumbered, swinging before my
gaze,
They passed on into the sundown, and were lost in
the lilac haze.
I cleared my eyes of the vision—or the tremor
of sunlit-glare—
Only the golden stubble and the sailing clouds were
there. Again
I looked to the Northward as far as the eye could
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And
never a rise nor foothill, never a hint of change,
Till a picture rose before me like a mirage at sea,
Or those wonders of incantation from Indian jugglery.
And I beheld no longer the voyaging clouds hull-down,
But towers of beautiful cities and homes of many
a town,
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And
over them all was gladness and peace and freedom
from care,
And I heard the laughter of children ring on the
frosty air.
And over the whispering snowdrift a far-off voice
said,
“No man shall injure his neighbor, and none
shall make you afraid.
Lo, I am with you always unto the end of the world.”
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| Then,
as the vision faded, the sails of the clouds were
furled.
And there, all round about me, real in the noonday
sun,
Stood Houses of Learning and Beauty—the
vision’s fulfillment begun.
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