M ARIAN D RURY , Marian Drury,
— How are the marshes full of the sea!
Acadie dreams of your coming home
— All year through, and her heart gets free, —

Free on the trail of the wind to travel,
— Search and course with the roving tide,
All year long where his hands unravel
— Blossom and berry the marshes hide.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,
— How are the marshes full of the surge!
April over the Norland now
— Walks in the quiet from verge to verge.

Burying, brimming, the building billows
— Fret the long dikes with uneasy foam.
Drenched with gold weather, the idling willows
— Kiss you a hand from the Norland home.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,
— How are the marshes full of the sun!
Blomidon waits for your coming home,
— All day long where the white wings run.

All spring through they falter and follow,
— Wander, and beckon the roving tide,
Wheel and float with the veering swallow,
— Lift you a voice from the blue hillside.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,
— How are the marshes full of the rain!
April over the Norland now
— Bugles for rapture, and rouses pain, —

Halts before the forsaken dwelling,
— Where in the twilight, too spent to roam,
Love, whom the fingers of death are quelling,
— Cries you a cheer from the Norland home.

Marian Drury, Marian Drury,
— How are the marshes filled with you!
Grand Pre dreams of your coming home, —
— Dreams while the rainbirds all night through,

Far in the uplands calling to win you,
— Tease the brown dusk on the marshes wide;
And never the burning heart within you
— Stirs in your sleep by the roving tide.