Lucy Maud Montgomery

Make it where the winds may sweep Through the pine boughs soft and deep, And the murmur of the sea Come across the orient lea, And the falling raindrops sing Gently to his slumbering.

Here is a voice that soundeth low and far And lyric­voice of wind among the pines, Where the untroubled, glimmering waters are, And sunlight seldom shines. Elusive shadows linger shyly here, And wood-flowers blow,

When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef’s threnody, The boats are sailing homeward now across the harbor bar With many

Last night I looked across the hills And through an arch of darkling pine Low-swung against a limpid west I saw a young moon shine. And as I gazed there blew a wind, Loosed

Lo, it is dark, Save for the crystal spark Of a virgin star o’er the purpling lea, Or the fine, keen, silvery grace of a young Moon that is hung O’er the priest-like firs

A prisoner under the stars I lie, With no friend near; To-morrow they lead me forth to die, The stake is ready, the torments set, They will pay in full their deadly debt; But

Come back to me, little dancing feet that roam the wide world o’er, I long for the lilt of your flying steps in my silent rooms once more; Come back to me, little voices

I sought for my happiness over the world, Oh, eager and far was my quest; I sought it on mountain and desert and sea, I asked it of east and of west. I sought

Frosty-white and cold it lies Underneath the fretful skies; Snowflakes flutter where the red Banners of the poppies spread, And the drifts are wide and deep Where the lilies fell asleep. But the sunsets

With tears they buried you to-day, But well I knew no turf could hold Your gladness long beneath the mould, Or cramp your laughter in the clay; I smiled while others wept for you

I smile o’er the wrinkled blue­ Lo! the sea is fair, Smooth as the flow of a maiden’s hair; And the welkin’s light shines through Into mid-sea caverns of beryl hue, And the little

Surely the flowers of a hundred springs Are simply the souls of beautiful things! The poppies aflame with gold and red Were the kisses of lovers in days that are fled. The purple pansies

In a lone valley fair and far, Where many sweet beguilements are, I know a spot to lag and dream Through damask morns and noons agleam; For feet fall lightly on the fern And

Here I lean over you, small son, sleeping Warm in my arms, And I con to my heart all your dew-fresh charms, As you lie close, close in my hungry hold. . . Your

Ho, come out with the wind of spring, And step it blithely in woodlands waking; Friend am I of each growing thing From the gray sod into sunshine breaking; Mine is the magic of

Let those who will of friendship sing, And to its guerdon grateful be, But I a lyric garland bring To crown thee, O, mine enemy! Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe For that

Now on the hill The fitful wind is so still That never a wimpling mist uplifts, Nor a trembling leaf drop-laden stirs; From the ancient firs Aroma of balsam drifts, And the silent places

When the salt wave laps on the long, dim shore, And frets the reef with its windy sallies, And the dawn’s white light is threading once more The purple firs in the landward valleys,

Now at our casement the wind is shrilling, Poignant and keen And all the great boughs of the pines between It is harping a lone and hungering strain To the eldritch weeping of the

Only a long, low-lying lane That follows to the misty sea, Across a bare and russet plain Where wild winds whistle vagrantly; I know that many a fairer path With lure of song and

The dark is coming o’er the world, my playmate, And the fields where poplars stand are very still, All our groves of green delight have been invaded, There are voices quite unknown upon the

Night in the unslumbering forest! From the free, Vast pinelands by the foot of man untrod, Blows the wild wind, roaming rejoicingly This wilderness of God; And the tall firs that all day long

Lo, I have loved thee long, long have I yearned and entreated! Tell me how I may win thee, tell me how I must woo. Shall I creep to thy white feet, in guise

A hundred generations have gone into its making, With all their love and tenderness, with all their dreams and tears; Their vanished joy and pleasure, their pain and their heart-breaking, Have colored this rare

Across the meadow in brooding shadow I walk to drink of the autumn’s wine­ The charm of story, the artist’s glory, To-day on these silvering hills is mine; On height, in hollow, where’er I

Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days Gleaned by the year in autumn’s harvest ways, With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember, Some crimson poppy of a late delight Atoning in its

When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more, And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore, And o’er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float. There’s

I The dawn laughs out on orient hills And dances with the diamond rills; The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs The silken, beaded gossamers; In the wide valleys, lone and fair, Lyrics are piped

I The air is silent save where stirs A bugling breeze among the firs; The virgin world in white array Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day; All heaven blooms rarely in the east

It is a year dear one, since you afar Went out beyond my yearning mortal sight­ A wondrous year! perchance in many a star You have sojourned, or basked within the light Of mightier

A gallant city has been builded far In the pied heaven, Bannered with crimson, sentinelled by star Of crystal even; Around a harbor of the twilight glowing, With jubilant waves about its gateways flowing

Here on a hill of the occident stand we shoulder to shoulder, Comrades tried and true through a mighty swath of the years! Spring harps glad laughter through us, and ministrant rains of the

Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths parted asunder, Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate, I might have cherished you well, have been

When we were together, heart of my heart, on that unforgotten quest, With your tender arm about me thrown and your head upon my breast, There came a grief that was bitter and deep

There’s a piping wind from a sunrise shore Blowing over a silver sea, There’s a joyous voice in the lapsing tide That calls enticingly; The mist of dawn has taken flight To the dim

Lo, find we here when the ripe day is o’er A kingdom of enchantment by the shore! Behold the sky with early stars ashine, A jewelled flagon brimmed with purple wine. Like a dumb

Wrapped was the world in slumber deep, By seaward valley and cedarn steep, And bright and blest were the dreams of its sleep; All the hours of that wonderful night-tide through The stars outblossomed

Come, let us to the sunways of the west, Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill, Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest O’er whispering wold and hill. Castles of air yon

Ho, a day Whereon we may up and away, With a fetterless wind that is out on the downs, And there piping a call to the fallow and shore, Where the sea evermore Surgeth

Last night a pale young Moon was wed Unto the amorous, eager Sea; Her maiden veil of mist she wore His kingly purple vesture, he. With her a bridal train of stars Walked sisterly

Down home to-night the moonshine falls Across a hill with daisies pied, The pear tree by the garden gate Beckons with white arms like a bride. A savor as of trampled fern Along the

I know a place for loitering feet Deep in the valley where the breeze Makes melody in lichened boughs, And murmurs low love-litanies. There slender harebells nod and dream, And pale wild roses offer

Athwart the harbor lingers yet The ashen gleam of breaking day, And where the guardian cliffs are set The noiseless shadows steal away; But all the winnowed eastern sky Is flushed with many a

The poet sang of a battle-field Where doughty deeds were done, Where stout blows rang on helm and shield And a kingdom’s fate was spun With the scarlet thread of victory, And honor from

I smiled with skeptic mocking where they told me you were dead, You of the airy laughter and lightly twinkling feet; “They tell a dream that haunted a chill gray dawn,” I said, “Death