And lay in patches of golden sheen
The cool dim arches and aisles between;
While the cherry trees on the slope below
Were white as banks of December snow,
And along its border the poplars tall
Seemed like faithful guardians over all.
How we loved to loiter away the hours
In that fairy realm of light and flowers,
To chase each other among the trees
Where the fitful winds rang their symphonies,
Or dabble our feet where a shy brook stole
Across the corner below the knoll,
With a muffled call and a silvern gleam
That flashes still on my waking dream.
How we loved the scent of the southernwood
Where it grew in an emerald solitude
Beneath the lilacs, and dearer still
The honeysuckle around the sill
Of the old low windows and wide front door
It all comes back to my sight once more;
And I seem to stand in the dear home place
Where the apple blossoms caress my face.
I — hear the call of the hidden brook
And the robin’s flute in each orchard nook,
I — see the blue of the summer skies
And the dappled wings of the butterflies,
The silken poppies, the trim rose walks,
And the lilies a-nod on their slender stalks.
Once more the sweets of their breath I drain,
And a calm steals over my weary brain.
And grandmother comes to our resting place
With a loving smile on her dear old face,
As she did of old when the light grew dim
And the west was with sunset rose a-brim,
To call us away to our early rest
In the brown old cottage we loved the best;
And there we sink to a blessed sleep,
While over the garden the shadows creep.
The Light In Mother’s Eyes
Dear beacon of my childhood’s day,
The lodestar of my youth,
A mingled glow of tenderest love,
And firm unswerving truth,
I’ve wandered far o’er East and West,
‘Neath many stranger skies,
But ne’er I’ve seen a fairer light
Than that in mother’s eyes.
In childhood, when I crept to lay
My tired head on her knee,
How gently shone the mother-love
In those dear eyes on me,
And when in youth my eager feet
Roamed from her side afar,
Where’er I went, that light divine
Was aye my guiding star.
In hours when all life’s sweetest buds
Burst into dewy bloom;
In hours when cherished hopes lay dead,
In sorrow and in gloom;
In evening’s hush, or morning’s glow,
Or in the solemn night,
Those mother eyes still shed on me
Their calm unchanging light.
Long since the patient hands I loved
Were folded in the clay,
And long have seemed the lonely years,
Since mother went away,
But still, I know she waits for me
In fields of Paradise,
And I shall reach them yet, led by
The light in mother’s eyes.
An Old Face
Calm as a reaped harvest height
Lying in the dim moonlight,
Yet with wrinkles round the eyes,
Jolly, tolerant and wise;
Beauty gone but in its place
Such a savor, such a grace
Won from the fantastic strife
Of this odd business we call life.
Many a wild adventurous year
Wrote its splendid record here;
Stars of many an old romance
Shine in that ironic glance;
Many a hideous vital day
Came and smote and passed away;
Now this face is ripe and glad,
Patient, sane — a little sad.
Friend to life yet with no fear
Of the darkness drawing near;
These so gallant eyes must see
Dawn-light of eternity,
See the Secret Vision still
High on some supernal hill;
’Tis a daring hope I hold —
To look like this when I am old.
At The Dance
Rhythmic beating of dainty feet,
Faces outvying the costly blooms,
Perfumes subtle, and strange and sweet;
Music pulsing through brilliant rooms,
Sheen of satin, and foam of lace,
Jewels a-glitter on arms of snow;
Girlish joy on each fair young face,
Voices a-quiver and eyes aglow.
To-night, with the fairest girl I dance,
Rumor has coupled our names, they say,
Eyes down-drooping beneath my glance;
If I speak will she answer “Nay”?
Now in the waltz we smoothly whirl;
Never was step than hers more light,
Why should the thought of another girl
Come from a dance of the past to-night?
A harvest home of my boyhood’s day,
Little like this yet the fiddle’s strain
Was witching — Old Amby knew how to play,
To thrill with passion or stab with pain,
I danced with the belle; her eyes dropped down
Rumor had coupled our names, you see, —
Shy and sweet in her muslin gown;
Fair and true as a girl need be.
Not a little like this one here —
Hair very much the same bright hue —
Not so tall — pink of cheek as clear —
Eyes, perchance, of a darker blue.
How we danced, with youth’s own zest,
Till the stars paled in the eastern sky,
And we two, with our love confessed,
Walked home together, she and I.
Pardon, fair partner, of waltz and whirl,
My errant dreams of a love untrue,
Was it treason to think of that other girl
When my thoughts should only have been of you?
Come, I promise to dream no more,
Look not up with reproachful glance,
Lightly drift we across the floor.
I am yours, to-night at the dance.
Comparisons
Far in the gracious 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 rests 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 as 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!
If Love Should Come
If love should come,
I wonder if my restless troubled heart,
Unkind, would bid its visitor depart,
With chill averted look and pulse unthrilled,
Because its sanctum was already filled
By cold ambition — would it still be dumb
If love should come?
If love should come,
Would all his pleading fall upon my ear
Unrecked of, as by one who wi
ll not hear?
Would my lips say, “I do not know thy name;
I — seek the far cold heights where dwelleth fame.
In all my life for thee there is no room.”
If love should come?
If love should come,
Against him would I dare to bar the door,
And, unregretful, bid him come no more?
Would stern ambition whisper to my heart,
“Love is a weakness — bid him hence depart,
For he and I can have no common home,”
If love should come?
If love should come,
And I should shut him out and turn away,
Would what contents me now content me aye?
Would all success the lonely years might bring
Suffice to recompense for that one thing?
Ah, could my heart be silent, my lips dumb,
If love should come?
The Bride Dreams
I
Love, is it dawn that creeps in so gray,
Like the timid ghost,
All shrinking and pale, of the sweet dead night
Lived and enjoyed to the uttermost
Of its swift delight?
Love, hold me close, for I am a-cold
With the grave’s own chill,
And my cheek must yet have the smear of the mould —
I have dreamed a dream as here I lay
Next to your heart — in my dream I died
And was buried deep, deep in the yard beside
The old church on the hill.
(Oh, the dream was bitter!)
II
By my gravestone a rose was blowing red,
Red as my love,
The world was full of the laughter of spring —
I heard it down there in my clammy bed —
The little birds sang in the trees above,
The wind was glad with the clouds that fled
All white and pearly across the sky,
And the pretty shadows went winking by
Like tricksy madcap thoughts a-wing.
You had buried me in my wedding gown
Of silk and lace —
My hair curled blackly my neck adown,
But my lips, I knew, were white in my face,
And the flower I held in my stiff hand yet
Was slimy and wet.
(Keep me from death, oh, my lover!)
III
Still, though the clay was heaped over me,
I could see — I could see
The folk going by to the old church door;
Wives and mothers and maids went by
All fine and silken, rosy and sweet;
Some came with a tear their graves to greet,
But to mine only old mad Margaret came,
And she laughed to herself as she read my name
With an eerie laughter, evil and sly,
That pierced like a dart to my cold heart’s core.
I saw the old maid go bitterly in
Who had known no love —
Two brothers who hated each other well —
Miser Jock with his yellow skin —
A girl with the innocent eyes of a dove —
A young wife with a bonny child —
And Lawrence, the man who never smiled
With his lips, but always mocked with his eyes —
O — love, the grave makes far too wise,
(I knew why he mocked!)
IV
Then I felt a thrill the dank earth through
And I knew — Oh, I knew
That it came from your step on our path from the dale;
Almost my heart began to beat!
Proud of her golden ring, at your side —
That slim white girl who lives at the mill,
Who has loved you always and loves you still,
With her hair the color of harvest wheat
And her lips as red as mine were pale.
How I hated her, so tall and fair
And shining of hair —
Love, I am so little and dark!
My heart, that had once soared up like a lark
At your glance, was as a stone in my breast;
Never once did you look my way,
Only at her you looked and kissed
With your eyes her eyes of amethyst —
My eyes were sunk in cruel decay
And the worms crawled in the silk of my vest —
(Keep me from death, Oh, my lover!)
V
Love, hold me close for I am a-cold!
It was only a dream — as a dream it fled,
Kiss me warm from its lingering chill,
Bum from my face the taint of the dead,
Kiss my hair that is black not gold —
Am I not sweet as the girl at the mill?
(Oh, the dream was bitter!)
The Parting Soul
Open the casement and set wide the door
For one out-going
Into the night that slips along the shore
Like a dark river flowing;
The rhythmic anguish of our sad hearts’ beating
Must hinder not a soul that would be fleeting.
Hark, how the voices of the ghostly wind
Cry for her coming!
What wild adventurous playmates will she find
When she goes roaming
Over the starry moor and misty hollow?
Loosen the clasp and set her free to follow.
Open the casement and set wide the door —
The call is clearer!
Than we whom she has loved so well before
There is a dearer —
When her fond lover death for her is sighing
We must not hold her with our tears from dying.
I Asked Of God
Humbly I asked of God to give me joy,
To crown my life with blossoms of delight;
I pled for happiness without alloy,
Desiring that my pathway should be bright;
Prayerful I sought these blessings to attain, —
And now I thank him that he gave me pain.
I asked of God that he should give success
To the high task I sought for him to do;
I asked that all the hindrances grow less,
And that my hours of weakness might be few;
I asked that far and lofty heights be scaled, —
And now I meekly thank him that I failed.
For with the pain and sorrow came to me
A dower of tenderness in act and thought;
And with the failure came a sympathy,
An insight that success had never bought.
Father, I had been foolish and unblest
If thou had granted me my blind request!
A Thanksgiving
Father, I thank Thee that I saw tonight
The moonrise on the sea;
I thank Thee for the blossoms frosty-white
Outflowering on the lea;
I thank Thee for the silence consecrate
In vast cathedral woods;
I thank Thee for the winds that soon and late
Pipe in far solitudes.
I thank Thee for a word that came to me
A friend’s heart to express;
I thank Thee for an old grief grown to be
A thing of helpfulness;
I thank Thee for the task that I must do
Lacking in lavish ease,
For a dear hope, for an ideal true —
Father, all thanks for these!
We Have Seen His Star
Across the yellow, pathless desert sands,
And over mountains in the East afar,
We come with royal tribute in our hands,
For we have seen his star;
We seek the New-born, we the ancient kings,
Hoary in lore of Persian and Chaldee,
Because immortal life, rich, full and free,
This Baby with Him brings.
Old, very old, are we, and we have sought
The Greater Knowledge, lo! these many years;
Yearned for the truth and ever found it not,
For all our toil and tears.
But He is truth incarnate; at His feet
When we shall kneel in homage reverently,
The wisdom we have quested for shall be
Ours grandly and complete.
Long have we blindly groped our stumbling road,
Seeking the light, though wandering oft astray,
But now the path shall be made plain to God —
He comes to show the way;
Long hath our journey been from lands afar,
Costly and splendid are the gifts we bring,
Tell us, we pray thee now, where lies the King,
For we have seen His star.
Could We But Know
Could we but know how often worn and weary
Are those we meet;
Would we condemn because they call life bitter,
Which we think sweet?
Would not our thought and judgment be more tender
To friend and foe,
Our greeting warmed with more of love’s own kindness,
Could we but know?
Could we but know how pain may lurk’neath laughter
Too keen to bear —
And how the hearts we deem so hard and reckless
Are dark with care,
Would not our idle tongues be slow to utter
Our words of blame?
Would we not call what we had reckoned folly
Some gentler name?
Would we not think’twere wise to be forgiving
Of doubtful mood,
Of all mistakes and seeming slights and errors
Not understood?
Would not our feet be swifter in the going
Help to bestow?
Our own lives better, nobler for the knowing,
Could we but know?
I Wish You
Friend o’ mine, in the year oncoming
I wish you a little time for play,
And an hour to dream in the eerie gloaming
After the clamorous day.
(And the moon like a pearl from an Indian shore
To hang for a lantern above your door.)
A little house with friendly rafters,
And some one in it to need you there,
Wine of romance and wholesome laughters
With a comrade or two to share.
(And some secret spot of your very own
Whenever you want to cry alone.)
I wish you a garden on fire with roses,
Columbines planted for your delight,
The Complete Works of L M Montgomery Page 770
