By The Burrard Inlet
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path there be or none
While a fair region round the rover lies
Which she forbears again to look upon
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene
The work of fancy or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration, the broad sun
In sinking down in its tranquility
If thought and love desert us, from that day
let us break off all business with the muse
with thought and love
companions of our way
Whatever the senses take or may refuse
the mind’s internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration
On the humbles lay