| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895. |
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| Above St. Irénée |
| | | Duncan Campbell Scott (1862–1947) |
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| I RESTED on the breezy height, | |
| In cooler shade and clearer air, | |
| Beneath a maple tree; | |
| Below, the mighty river took | |
| Its sparkling shade and sheeny light | 5 |
| Down to the sombre sea, | |
| And clustered by the leaping brook | |
| The roofs of white St. Irénée. | |
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| The sapphire hills on either hand | |
| Broke down upon the silver tide, | 10 |
| The river ran in streams, | |
| In streams of mingled azure-gray | |
| With here a broken purple band, | |
| And whorls of drab, and beams | |
| Of shattered silver light astray, | 15 |
| Where far away the south shore gleams. | |
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| I walked a mile along the height | |
| Between the flowers upon the road, | |
| Asters and golden-rod; | |
| And in the gardens pinks and stocks, | 20 |
| And gaudy poppies shaking light, | |
| And daisies blooming near the sod, | |
| And lowly pansies set in flocks | |
| With purple monkshood overawed. | |
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| And there I saw a little child | 25 |
| Between the tossing golden-rod, | |
| Coming along to me; | |
| She was a tender little thing, | |
| So fragile-sweet, so Mary-mild, | |
| I thought her name Marie; | 30 |
| No other name methought could cling | |
| To any one so fair as she. | |
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| And when we came at last to meet, | |
| I spoke a simple word to her, | |
| “Where are you going, Marie?” | 35 |
| She answered and she did not smile, | |
| But oh, her voice,—her voice so sweet, | |
| “Down to St. Irénée,” | |
| And so passed on to walk her mile, | |
| And left the lonely road to me. | 40 |
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