Far Horizons

by Bliss Carman




WHERE the traveller looks from Saanich,
Fair is the sight he sees,
A gracious imperial city
Guarding the gates of the seas,
With a robe of golden English broom
Spreading about her knees.

Lovely, with old-world leisure
Gracing her modest state,
In youthful pride of dominion
She sits by the Western gate,

Watching the liners come and go
Through Juan de Fuca Strait.

She is crowned with ivy and laurel
Fresh with an ageless spring;
Tales of the East and news of the North

Her sheltered sea-lanes bring;
And all her beauteous days go by,
Soft as a gray gull’s wing.

Child of the strong adventure,
Bred to the clean and fine,

With touch of the velvet tropics
And eyes with the Northern shine,
Never to be forgotten—
Last of the Sea-Kings’ line.