E.J. Pratt

Here’s a poem for a Sunday morning by E. J. Pratt (February 4, 1882 – April 26, 1964), Canadian poet from Newfoundland who lived most of his life in Toronto, Ontario.

A three-time winner of the country's Governor General's Award for poetry, he has been called "the foremost Canadian poet of the first half of the century."

Blind

It was your boast before the silence fell
That you could measure all your love, and chart
The return of mine so surely as to tell
Both boundary and trespass in my heart.

But when the dawn and the meridian
Entered their sudden fusion with the night;
When roses and anemones began
To grow as winter rushes in your sight;

I wondered by what navigator’s sign,
By what vicarious starlight, you could trace
Horizons which were never yours nor mine
Until your wistful fingers sought my face.

--E.J. Pratt