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In Lovers Lane

 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 up The fragrance of their golden hearts, As from some incense-brimméd cup.
It holds the sunshine sifted down Softly through many a beechen screen, Save where, by deeper woods embraced, Cool shadows linger, dim and green.
And there my love and I may walk And harken to the lapsing fall Of unseen brooks and tender winds, And wooing birds that sweetly call.
And every voice to her will say What I repeat in dear refrain, And eyes will meet with seeking eyes, And hands will clasp in Lovers' Lane.
Come, sweet-heart, then, and we will stray Adown that valley, lingering long, Until the rose is wet with dew, And robins come to evensong, And woo each other, borrowing speech Of love from winds and brooks and birds, Until our sundered thoughts are one And hearts have no more need of words.

Poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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