Poems by Lucy Maud Montgomery

All Poems Original Poems Translations

« ‹ 1 2 3 4 5 › »

The Call of the Winds

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 twilights dim,

Of violets blue on the still pool's rim,

Mine is the breath of the blossoms young

Sweetest of fragrances storied or sung

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

If Mary Had Known

If Mary had known

When she held her Babe's hands in her own

Little hands that were tender and white as a rose,

All dented with dimples from finger to wrist,

Such as mothers have kissed

That one day they must feel the fierce blows

Of a hatred insane,

Must redden with holiest stain,

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Fancies

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,

Was the first pure prayer of a virgin heart.

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

September

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 splendor for the flight

Of summer blooms and joys

This is September.

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Poet

There was strength in him and the weak won freely from it,

There was an infinite pity, and hard hearts grew soft thereby,

There was truth so unshrinking and starry-shining,

Men read clear by its light and learned to scorn a lie.

His were songs so full of a wholesome laughter

Those whose courage was ashen found it once more aflame,

His was a child-like faith and wandering feet were guided,

His was a hope so joyous despair was put to shame.

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

In Memory of Maggie

A pussy-cat who was the household pet for seventeen years.

Naught but a little cat, you say;

Yet we remember her,

A creature loving, loyal, kind,

With merry, mellow purr;

The faithful friend of many years,

Shall we not give her meed of tears?

Sleek-suited in her velvet coat,

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

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Which Has More Patience -- Man or Woman?

As my letter must be brief,

I'll at once state my belief,

And this it is — that, since the world began,

And Adam first did say,

"'Twas Eve led me astray,"

A woman hath more patience than a man.

If a man's obliged to wait

For some one who's rather late,

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

A Request

When I am dead

I would that ye make my bed

On that low-lying, windy waste by the sea,

Where the silvery grasses rustle and lisp;

There, where the crisp

Foam-flakes shall fly over me,

And murmurs creep

From the ancient heart of the deep,

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Forest Path

Oh, the charm of idle dreaming

Where the dappled shadows dance,

All the leafy aisles are teeming

With the lure of old romance!

Down into the forest dipping,

Deep and deeper as we go,

One might fancy dryads slipping

Where the white-stemmed birches grow.

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

I Feel (Verse Libre)

I feel

Very much

Like taking

Its unholy perpetrators

By the hair

Of their heads

(If they have any hair)

And dragging them around

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

A Winter Dawn

Above the marge of night a star still shines,

And on the frosty hills the sombre pines

Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth low

Over the glimmering wastes of virgin snow.

Through the pale arch of orient the morn

Comes in a milk-white splendor newly-born,

A sword of crimson cuts in twain the gray

Banners of shadow hosts, and lo, the day!

by Lucy Maud Montgomery