Far Horizons

by Bliss Carman


 

IN THE OKANAGAN


 

I HEAR the sweet larks crying,
The soft wind in the pines
Is like a great sea sighing
For what its heart divines.
The hills stand up in splendor;
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The dark blue shadows lean
Against them deep and tender;
The far-blown air is clean.

From Skaha to Osoyoos
The temperate days go by

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With simple life and joyous
Under a stainless sky.
The gray unbroken benches
Are crowned with yellow sage,
And ageless beauty quenches
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The fever of our age.

Here balsam poplars capture
The scent of Paradise,
And strange new flowers enrapture
Our unaccustomed eyes.

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The trees with fruit are bending,
The gardens gay with flowers,
A sense of peace unending
Is over all the hours.

Along the purple ranges

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The glow of sunset shines,
And glory spreads and changes
Among the red-boled pines.
Here time takes on new leisure
And life attains new worth.
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And wise are they who treasure
This Eden of the North.