DAWN IN THE ISLAND CAMP
by William Wilfred Campbell
RED in the mists of the morning,
Angry, colored with fire,
Beats the great lake in its beauty,
Rocks the wild lake in its ire.
Tossing from headland to headland,
Tipped with the glories of dawn,
Tipped with the glories of dawn,
With gleaming, wide reaches of beaches,
That stretch out far, wind-swept and wan.
Behind, the wild tangle of island,
Swept and drenched by the gales of the night;
In front, lone stretches of water
In front, lone stretches of water
Flame-bathed by the incoming light:
Dim the dark reels and dips under,
Night wavers and ceases to be;
As God sends the manifold mystery
Of the morning and lake round to me
Of the morning and lake round to me
