At Les Éboulements (Poem by Duncan Campbell Scott)

Suggested Poem


At Les Éboulements (1)
To M. E. S.
By Duncan Campbell Scott


The bay is set with ashy sails,
    With purple shades that fade and flee,
And curling by in silver wales,
    The tide is straining from the sea.

The grassy points are slowly drowned,
    The water laps and over-rolls,
The wicker pêche; with shallow sound
    A light wave labours on the shoals.

The crows are feeding in the foam,
    They rise in crowds tumultuously,
‘Come home,’ they cry, ‘come home, come home,
    And leave the marshes to the sea.’


At Les Éboulements (2)


A glamour on the phantom shore
    Of golden pallid green,
Gray purple in the flats before,
    The river streams between.

From hazy hamlets, one by one,
    Beyond the island bars,
The casements in the setting sun
    Flash back in violet stars.

A brig is straining out for sea,
    To Norway or to France she goes,
And all her happy flags are free,
    Her sails are flushed with rose.

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