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Best Famous Lucy Maud Montgomery Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Lucy Maud Montgomery poems. This is a select list of the best famous Lucy Maud Montgomery poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Lucy Maud Montgomery poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Lucy Maud Montgomery poems.

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by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

To One Hated

 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 to you fond and faithful,
Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great.
Each cold word of mine might have been a kiss impassioned, Warm with the throb of my heart, thrilled with my pulse's leap, And every glance of scorn, lashing, pursuing, and stinging, As a look of tenderness would have been wondrous and deep.
Bitter our hatred is, old and strong and unchanging, Twined with the fibres of life, blent with body and soul, But as its bitterness, so might have been our love's sweetness Had it not missed the way­strange missing and sad!­to its goal.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

My Longshore Lass

 Far in the mellow western sky,
Above the restless harbor bar,
A beacon on the coast of night,
Shines out a calm, white evening star;
But your deep eyes, my 'longshore lass,
Are brighter, clearer far.
The glory of the sunset past Still gleams upon the water there, But all its splendor cannot match The wind-blown brightness of your hair; Not any sea-maid's floating locks Of gold are half so fair.
The waves are whispering to the sands With murmurs as of elfin glee; But your low laughter, 'longshore lass, Is like a sea-harp's melody, And the vibrant tones of your tender voice Are sweeter far to me.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Companioned

 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.
The faces of old comradeship In golden youth were round my way, And in the keening wind I heard The songs of many an orient day.
And to me called, from out the pines And woven grasses, voices dear, As if from elfin lips should fall The mimicked tones of yesteryear.
Old laughter echoed o'er the leas And love-lipped dreams the past had kept, From wayside blooms like honeyed bees To company my wanderings crept.
And so I walked, but not alone, Right glad companionship had I, On that gray meadow waste between Dim-litten sea and winnowed sky.


More great poems below...

by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Twilight

 From vales of dawn hath Day pursued the Night
Who mocking fled, swift-sandalled, to the west,
Nor ever lingered in her wayward flight
With dusk-eyed glance to recompense his quest,
But over crocus hills and meadows gray
Sped fleetly on her way.
Now when the Day, shorn of his failing strength, Hath fallen spent before the sunset bars, The fair, wild Night, with pity touched at length, Crowned with her chaplet of out-blossoming stars, Creeps back repentantly upon her way To kiss the dying Day.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Two Loves

 One said; "Lo, I would walk hand-clasped with thee
Adown the ways of joy and sunlit slopes
Of earthly song in happiest vagrancy
To pluck the blossom of a thousand hopes.
Let us together drain the wide world's cup With gladness brimméd up!" And one said, "I would pray to go with thee When sorrow claims thee; I would fence thy heart With mine against all anguish; I would be The comforter and healer of thy smart; And I would count it all the wide world's gain To spare or share thy pain!"


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Genius

 Genius, like gold and precious stones, 
is chiefly prized because of its rarity.
Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild, incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility, and get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter.
Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres far above the vulgar world and fills his soul with regal contempt for the gross and sordid things of earth.
It is probably on account of this that people who have genius do not pay their board, as a general thing.
Geniuses are very singular.
If you see a young man who has frowsy hair and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress, you may set him down for a genius.
If he sings about the degeneracy of a world which courts vulgar opulence and neglects brains, he is undoubtedly a genius.
If he is too proud to accept assistance, and spurns it with a lordly air at the very same time that he knows he can't make a living to save his life, he is most certainly a genius.
If he hangs on and sticks to poetry, notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him, he is a true genius.
If he throws away every opportunity in life and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot, and finally persists, in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense but not any genius, persists in going up some infamous back alley dying in rags and dirt, he is beyond all question a genius.
But above all things, to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse and then rush off and get booming drunk, is the surest of all the different signs of genius.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Spring Song

 THE air was full of sun and birds,
The fresh air sparkled clearly.
Remembrance wakened in my heart And I knew I loved her dearly.
The fallows and the leafless trees And all my spirit tingled.
My earliest thought of love, and Spring's First puff of perfume mingled.
In my still heart the thoughts awoke, Came lone by lone together - Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love A mere affair of weather?


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

In Port

 Last, to the chamber where I lie 
My fearful footsteps patter nigh, 
And come out from the cold and gloom 
Into my warm and cheerful room.
There, safe arrived, we turn about To keep the coming shadows out, And close the happy door at last On all the perils that we past.
Then, when mamma goes by to bed, She shall come in with tip-toe tread, And see me lying warm and fast And in the land of Nod at last.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

In the Days of the Golden Rod

 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 follow,
By mellow hillside and searing sod,
Its plumes uplifting, in light winds drifting,
I see the glimmer of golden-rod.
In this latest comer the vanished summer Has left its sunshine the world to cheer, And bids us remember in late September What beauty mates with the passing year.
The days that are fleetest are still the sweetest, And life is near to the heart of God, And the peace of heaven to earth is given In this wonderful time of the golden-rod.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Loves Prayer

 Beloved, this the heart I offer thee 
Is purified from old idolatry, 
From outworn hopes, and from the lingering stain 
Of passion's dregs, by penitential pain.
Take thou it, then, and fill it up for me With thine unstinted love, and it shall be An earthy chalice that is made divine By its red draught of sacramental wine.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Realization

 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 could not touch or claim a thing so vivid and so sweet!" 

I looked upon you coffined amid your virgin flowers,
But even that white silence could bring me no belief:
"She lies in maiden sleep," I said.
"and in the youngling hours Her sealed dark eyes will open to scorn our foolish grief.
" But when I went at moonrise to our ancient trysting place.
.
.
.
.
And, oh, the wind was keening in the fir-boughs overhead! .
.
.
.
And you came never to me with your little gypsy face, Your lips and hands of welcome, I knew that you were dead!


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

To My Enemy

 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 my lifelong journey through
Thine honest hate has done for me
What love perchance had failed to do.
I had not scaled such weary heights But that I held thy scorn in fear, And never keenest lure might match The subtle goading of thy sneer.
Thine anger struck from me a fire That purged all dull content away, Our mortal strife to me has been Unflagging spur from day to day.
And thus, while all the world may laud The gifts of love and loyalty, I lay my meed of gratitude Before thy feet, mine enemy!


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

The Wind

 O, wind! what saw you in the South,
In lilied meadows fair and far? 
I saw a lover kiss his lass
New-won beneath the evening star.
O, wind! what saw you in the West Of passing sweet that wooed your stay? I saw a mother kneeling by The cradle where her first-born lay.
O, wind! what saw you in the North That you shall dream of evermore? I saw a maiden keeping tryst Upon a gray and haunted shore.
O, wind! what saw you in the East That still of ancient dole you croon? I saw a wan wreck on the waves And a dead face beneath the moon.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

The Wood Pool

 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, like pale, sweet spirit-bloom, And white, slim birches whisper, mirrored clear In the pool's lucent gloom.
Here Pan might pipe, or wandering dryad kneel To view her loveliness beside the brim, Or laughing wood-nymphs from the byways steal To dance around its rim.
'Tis such a witching spot as might beseem A seeker for young friendship's trysting place, Or lover yielding to the immortal dream Of one beloved face.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

You

 You came – 
determined, 
because I was large,
because I was roaring,
but on close inspection
you saw a mere boy.
You seized and snatched away my heart and began to play with it – like a girl with a bouncing ball.
And before this miracle every woman was either a lady astounded or a maiden inquiring: “Love such a fellow? Why, he'll pounce on you! She must be a lion tamer, a girl from the zoo!” But I was triumphant.
I didn’t feel it – the yoke! Oblivious with joy, I jumped and leapt about, a bride-happy redskin, I felt so elated and light.
Transcribed: by Mitch Abidor.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

When the Dark Comes Down

 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 a jest and many a shout from fishing grounds afar.
So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk so brown, For task and quest are ended when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the landward valleys fill Like brimming cups of purple, and on every landward hill There shines a star of twilight that is watching evermore The low, dim lighted meadows by the long, dim-lighted shore, For there, where vagrant daisies weave the grass a silver crown, The lads and lassies wander when the dark comes down.
When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall asleep, And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep; There's music in the song they sing and music on the sea, The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight's litany, For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has ceased to frown, And every wave's a lyric when the dark comes down.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

The Seeker

 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 it in beautiful cities of men, On shores that were sunny and blue, And laughter and lyric and pleasure were mine In palaces wondrous to view; Oh, the world gave me much to my plea and my prayer But never I found aught of happiness there! Then I took my way back to a valley of old And a little brown house by a rill, Where the winds piped all day in the sentinel firs That guarded the crest of the hill; I went by the path that my childhood had known Through the bracken and up by the glen, And I paused at the gate of the garden to drink The scent of sweet-briar again; The homelight shone out through the dusk as of yore And happiness waited for me at the door!


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

The Three Songs

 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 death's grim revelry
Like a flame-red flower was won!
So bravely he sang that all who heard
With the sting of the fight and the triumph were stirred,
And they cried, "Let us blazon his name on high,
He has sung a song that will never die!" 

Again, full throated, he sang of fame
And ambition's honeyed lure,
Of the chaplet that garlands a mighty name,
Till his listeners fired with the god-like flame
To do, to dare, to endure!
The thirsty lips of the world were fain
The cup of glamor he vaunted to drain,
And the people murmured as he went by,
"He has sung a song that will never die !" 

And once more he sang, all low and apart,
A song of the love that was born in his heart:
Thinking to voice in unfettered strain
Its sweet delight and its sweeter pain; 
Nothing he cared what the throngs might say 
Who passed him unheeding from day to day, 
For he only longed with his melodies 
The soul of the one beloved to please.
The song of war that he sang is as naught, For the field and its heroes are long forgot, And the song he sang of fame and power Was never remembered beyond its hour! Only to-day his name is known By the song he sang apart and alone, And the great world pauses with joy to hear The notes that were strung for a lover's ear.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

The Truce of Night

 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 by the sea;
Lo, it is still,
Save for the wind of the hill,
And the luring, primeval sounds that fill
The moist and scented air­
'Tis the truce o' night, away with unrest and care! 

Now we may forget 
Love's fever and hate's fret, 
Forget to-morrow and yesterday; 
And the hopes we buried in musky gloom 
Will come out of their tomb, 
Warm and poignant and gay; 
We may wander wide, 
With only a wish for a guide, 
By heath and pool where the Little Folk bide, 
We may share in fairy mirth, 
And partake once more in the happy thoughts of earth.
Lo, we may rest Here on her cradling breast In the wonderful time of the truce o' night, And sweet things that happened long ago, Softly and slow, Will creep back to us in delight; And our dreams may be Compact of young melody, Just such as under the Eden Tree, 'Mid the seraphim's lullabies, Eve's might have been ere banished from Paradise.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

The Voyagers

 We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some dim primrose shore,
We shall sail with the magic of dusk behind and enchanted coasts before,
Over oceans that stretch to the sunset land where lost Atlantis lies,
And our pilot shall be the vesper star that shines in the amber skies.
The sirens will call to us again, all sweet and demon-fair, And a pale mermaiden will beckon us, with mist on her night-black hair; We shall see the flash of her ivory arms, her mocking and luring face, And her guiling laughter will echo through the great, wind-winnowed space.
But we shall not linger for woven spell, or sea-nymph's sorceries, It is ours to seek for the fount of youth, and the gold of Hesperides, Till the harp of the waves in its rhythmic beat keeps time to our pulses' swing, And the orient welkin is smit to flame with auroral crimsoning.
And at last, on some white and wondrous dawn, we shall reach the fairy isle Where our hope and our dream are waiting us, and the to-morrows smile; With song on our lips and faith in our hearts we sail on our ancient quest, And each man shall find, at the end of the voyage, the thing he loves the best.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

When the Fishing Boats Go Out

 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 joyance and there's freedom when the fishing boats go out.
The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted caves, And sending sparkling kisses o'er the brows of virgin waves, While routed dawn-mists shiver­oh, far and fast they flee, Pierced by the shafts of sunrise athwart the merry sea! Behind us, fair, light-smitten hills in dappled splendor lie, Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky­ Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled afar As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the harbor bar.
[Page 35] The sea is calling to us in a blithesome voice and free, There's keenest rapture on its breast and boundless liberty! Each man is master of his craft, its gleaming sails out-blown, And far behind him on the shore a home he calls his own.
Salt is the breath of ocean slopes and fresher blows the breeze, And swifter still each bounding keel cuts through the combing seas, Athwart our masts the shadows of the dipping sea-gulls float, And all the water-world's alive when the fishing boats go out.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

While the Fates Sleep

 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 wimpling valleys keep Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea, They shall be ours in the moon's wizardry, While the fates, wearied, sleep.
The viewless spirit of the wind will sing In the soft starshine by the reedy mere, The elfin harps of hemlock boughs will ring Fitfully far and near; The fields will yield their trove of spice and musk, And balsam from the glens of pine will fall, Till twilight weaves its tangled shadows all In one dim web of dusk.
Let us put tears and memories away, While the fates sleep time stops for revelry; Let us look, speak, and kiss as if no day Has been or yet will be; Let us make friends with laughter 'neath the moon, With music on the immemorial shore, Yea, let us dance as lovers danced of yore­ The fates will waken soon!


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

With Tears They Buried You Today

 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
Because I knew.
And now you sit with me to-night Here in our old, accustomed place; Tender and mirthful is your face, Your eyes with starry joy are bright­ Oh, you are merry as a song For love is strong! They think of you as lying there Down in the churchyard grim and old; They think of you as mute and cold, A wan, white thing that once was fair, With dim, sealed eyes that never may Look on the day.
But love cannot be coffined so In clod and darkness; it must rise And seek its own in radiant guise, With immortality aglow, Making of death's triumphant sting A little thing.
Ay, we shall laugh at those who deem Our hearts are sundered! Listen, sweet, The tripping of the wind's swift feet Along the by-ways of our dream, And hark the whisper of the rose Wilding that blows.
Oh, still you love those simple things, And still you love them more with me; The grave has won no victory; It could not clasp your shining wings, It could not keep you from my side, Dear and my bride!


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

You

 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 bloom may woo,
But oh ! I love this lonely strath
Because it is so full of you.
Here we have walked in elder years, And here your truest memories wait, This spot is sacred to your tears, That to your laughter dedicate; Here, by this turn, you gave to me A gem of thought that glitters yet, This tawny slope is graciously By a remembered smile beset.
Here once you lingered on an hour When stars were shining in the west, To gather one pale, scented flower And place it smiling on your breast; And since that eve its fragrance blows For me across the grasses sere, Far sweeter than the latest rose, That faded bloom of yesteryear.
For me the sky, the sea, the wold, Have beckoning visions wild and fair, The mystery of a tale untold, The grace of an unuttered prayer.
Let others choose the fairer path That winds the dimpling valley through, I gladly seek this lonely strath Companioned by my dreams of you.


by Lucy Maud Montgomery | |

Song of the Sea-Wind

 When the sun sets over the long blue wave
I spring from my couch of rest,
And I hurtle and boom over leagues of foam 
That toss in the weltering west,
I pipe a hymn to the headlands high, 
My comrades forevermore,
And I chase the tricksy curls of foam 
O'er the glimmering sandy shore.
The moon is my friend on clear, white nights When I ripple her silver way, And whistle blithely about the rocks Like an elfin thing at play; But anon I ravin with cloud and mist And wail 'neath a curdled sky, When the reef snarls yon like a questing beast, And the frightened ships go by.
I scatter the dawn across the sea Like wine of amber flung From a crystal goblet all far and fine Where the morning star is hung; I blow from east and I blow from west Wherever my longing be- The wind of the land is a hindered thing But the ocean wind is free!