Poetry Pick

In Lovers' Lane

by Lucy Maud Montgomery


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)


 

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