Outremont.
Far stretched the landscape, fair, without a flaw, Down to one silver sheet, some stream or cloud, Through glamorous mists. Midway, an engine ploughed Across the scene. In meditative awe I stood and gazed, absorbed in what I saw, Till sweet-breathed Evening came, the pensive-browed, And creeping from the city, spread her shroud Over the sunlit slopes of Outremont. Soon the mild Indian summer will be past, November's mists soon flee December's snows; The trees may perish, and the winter's blast Wreck the tall windmills; these weak eyes may close; But ever will that scene continue fast Fixed in my soul, where richer still it grows.
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"Far stretched the landscape, fair, without a flaw,..."
W. M. MacKeracher's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Outremont."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...