The Curve of a Golden Moon

I was reminded of Pauline Johnson on the television tonight.

It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon,

And we two dreaming the dusk away,

Beneath the drift of a twilight grey,

Beneath the drowse of an ending day,

And the curve of a golden moon.

It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,

And gone are the depths of haunting blue,

The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,

The singing firs, and the dusk and - you,

And gone is the golden moon.

O! lure of the Lost Lagoon, -

I dream to-night that my paddle blurs,

The purple shade where the seaweed stirs,

I hear the call of the singing firs

In the hush of the golden moon.

Pauline Johnson

Pauline's is one of the few graves I smoked a bomber on.