I know a place for lagging 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-brimmed 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 Lover's Lane.
Come, sweetheart, then, and we will stray
Adown that valley, lingering long
Until the rose is wet with dew
And robins come to even-song;
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.
From The Poetry of Lucy Maud Montgomery
(Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 1987)