Manitou

GIRDLED by Huron's throbbing and thunder,
Out on the drift and rift of its blue ;
Walled by mists from the world asunder,
Far from all hate and passion and wonder,
Lieth the isle of the Manitou.

Here, where the surfs of the great Lake trample
Thundering time-worn caverns through,
Beating on rock-coasts aged and ample,
Reareth the Manitou's mist-walled temple,
Floored with forest and roofed with blue.

Grey crag-battlements, seared and broken,
Keep these passes for ages to come ;
Never a watchword here is spoken,
Never a single sign or token,
From hands that are motionless, lips that are dumb.

Only the sun-god rideth over,
Marking the seasons with track of flame ;
Only the wild-fowl float and hover,
Flocks of clouds, whose white wings cover
Spaces on spaces without a name.

Stretches of marsh and wild lake-meadow,
Beaches that bend to the edge of the world ;
Morn and even, suntime and shadow ;
Wild flame of sunset over far meadow,
Fleets of white vapours sun-kissed and furled.

Year by year the ages onward
Drift, but it lieth out here alone ;
Earthward the mists, and the earth-mists sunward ;
Starward the days, and the nights bloom dawnward ;
Whisper the forests, the beaches make moan.

Far from the world, and its passions fleeting,
'Neath quiet of noonday and stillness of star,
Shore unto shore each sendeth greeting,
Where the only woe is the surfs wild beating
That throbs from the maddened lake afar.