All Poems

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I Feel (Verse Libre)

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

I feel
Very much
Like taking
Its unholy perpetrators

Harbor Moonrise

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

There is never a wind to sing o'er the sea
On its dimpled bosom that holdeth in fee
Wealth of silver and magicry;
And the harbor is like to an ebon cup

Harbor Dawn

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

There's a hush and stillness calm and deep,
For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep
In the shadow of headlands bold and steep;
But some gracious spirit has taken the cup

Gratitude

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

I thank thee, friend, for the beautiful thought
That in words well chosen thou gavest to me,
Deep in the life of my soul it has wrought
With its own rare essence to ever imbue me,

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 blossom of the long-unfruitful years.

Forever

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

I With you I shall ever be;
Over land and sea
My thoughts will companion you;
With yours shall my laughter chime,

For Little Things

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

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.

Fancies

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

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 with dew-drops pearled
Were the rainbow dreams of a youngling world. The lily, white as a star apart,

Echo Dell

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

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;

Down Stream

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

Comrades, up! Let us row down stream in this first rare dawnlight,
While far in the clear north-west the late moon whitens and wanes;
Before us the sun will rise, deep-purpling headland and islet,
It is well to meet him thus, with the life astir in our veins!

Companioned

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

I walked to-day, but not alone,
Adown a windy, sea-girt lea,
For memory, spendthrift of her charm,
Peopled the silent lands for me.

Down Home

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

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.

Come, Rest Awhile

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray
In glimmering valleys, cool and far away. Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street,
And listen to the music, faint and sweet, That echoes ever to a listening ear,
Unheard by those who will not pause to hear The wayward chimes of memory's pensive bells,

By an Autumn Fire

© Lucy Maud Montgomery

No more of springtime hopes, sweet and uncertain,
Here we have largess of summer in fee
Pile high the logs till the flame be leaping,
At bay the chill of the autumn keeping,
While pilgrim-wise, we may go a-reaping
In the fairest meadow of memory!

Before Storm

There's a grayness over the harbor like fear on the face of a woman,
The sob of the waves has a sound akin to a woman's cry,
And the deeps beyond the bar are moaning with evil presage
Of a storm that will leap from its lair in that dour north-eastern sky.

At the Long Sault

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,

At Nightfall

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 hill;

As the Heart Hopes

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

An Autumn Evening

Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.

An April Night

The moon comes up o'er the deeps of the woods,
And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,
Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds
Over the pools and the whimpering rills;