Lost Lagoon

It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon,
And we two dreaming the dusk away,
Beneath the drift of a twilight grey,
Beneath the drowse of an ending day,
And the curve of a golden moon.

It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,
And gone are the depths of haunting blue,
The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,
The singing firs, and the dusk and–you,
And gone is the golden moon.

O! lure of the Lost Lagoon,–
I dream to-night that my paddle blurs
The purple shade where the seaweed stirs,
I hear the call of the singing firs
In the hush of the golden moon.

Emily Pauline Johnson (1861-1913)

Today, as an exception, I am posting a poem I found displayed on a promenade in downtown Vancouver.  The picture was taken from there. Does anyone doubt that English is as fit for rhythmic poetry as any romance language?   Nowadays, when rhythmic verses are looked down as writings of the days of yore, it is refreshing to see a gorgeous poem whose rhythm adds to the beauty of the evoked scenes.