Page:This Canada of ours and other poems.djvu/24



tent pitched by a glassy lake, Well under a shady tree, Or by rippling rills from the grand old hills, Is the summer home for me. I fear no blaze of the noontide rays, For the woodland glades are mine, The fragrant air, and that perfume rare, The odour of forest pine.

The wild woods, the wild woods, The wild woods give me; The wild woods of Canada, The boundless and free!

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