Fits to a "T"

It surely is no secret that one of my most favourite places is "Algonquin Park."

Many years ago I happened upon this poem, written by Marjory Pickthall and was taken aback by the mood it creates, so much like what one might feel when camping on the shores of Misty Lake or any of the hundreds of lakes we have visited there.

The poem is Marjory's, the title is mine.

Misty Lake

WiND-SILVERED willows hedge the stream, 

And all within is hushed and cool. 
The water, in an endless dream, 
Goes sliding down from pool to pool. 
And every pool a sapphire is, 
From shadowy deep to sunlit edge, 
Ribboned around with irises 
And cleft with emerald spears of sedge. 
O, every morn the winds are stilled, 
The sunlight falls in amber bars. 
O, every night the pools are filled 
With silver brede of shaken stars. 
O, every morn the sparrow flings 
His elfin trills athwart the hush, 
And here unseen at eve there sings 
One crystal-throated hermit-thrush.

Marjory Pickthall