The Icelandic Canadian - 01.10.1942, Síða 20

16
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
So take your sport: the Night now yokes her team;
The golden Stars in cap’ring concourse stream,
Close to their mother’s car; behind them tread
Taciturn Sleep, with dusky wings o’erspread,
And, with steps wavering, attending him,
The Visions of the night, — Dream-phantoms dim,
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Poem
While the gun speaks and the shell,
Leave the lovely word, gestating in darkness,
Finding no mouth —
For the heart’s language goes unspoken in a starless world
Ah love! keep the phrase hidden
Bury the unpublic staves
Weave graveclothes of silence for the quickened speech.
Let us fetter tongues in the tumultous hour —
And forget the heart’s haunts
In the dumbshow, the gesture and the mime
The gaslight of a buskined world.
Margaret Bjornson Adamson
-J----★------
Fool’s Paradise
Fool’s Paradise
Is a lovely place
Of tender sighs
And a handsome face.
Fool’s Paradise
Is our dream, my dear.
Don’t open my eyes—
I like it here!
The Icelandic Canadian
Published Quarterly by the Icelandic Canadian Club.
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