The Complete Poems of Lucy Maud Montgomery E-Book

Lucy Maud Montgomery

• Herausgeber: Musaicum Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 180

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The Complete Poems of Lucy Maud Montgomery showcases the lesser-known poetic talent of the beloved author of Anne of Green Gables. In this collection, Montgomery's lyrical verses transport readers to the idyllic landscapes of Prince Edward Island, where she spent most of her life. Her poems, reminiscent of the Romantic and Victorian styles, encompass themes of nature, love, loss, and the passage of time. The simplicity and beauty of her language captivate readers, evoking deep emotions and inviting contemplation of life's mysteries. This compilation provides a unique insight into Montgomery's versatility as a writer, beyond her renowned work in prose. The rhythm, imagery, and emotional depth of each poem are sure to resonate with poetry enthusiasts and fans of Montgomery's fiction alike. Fans of Anne of Green Gables will especially appreciate this deeper look into the literary world of the iconic author, gaining a greater appreciation for her rich storytelling and imaginative prowess.

Leseprobe

Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Complete Poems of Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Watchman and Other Poems & Uncollected Poems

Published by

Books

- Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -

[email protected]

2017 OK Publishing

ISBN 978-80-272-3139-3

Table of Contents

THE WATCHMAN AND OTHER POEMS

UNCOLLECTED POEM

THE WATCHMAN AND OTHER POEMS

Main TOC

CONTENTS

THE WATCHMAN

SONGS OF THE SEA

RAIN ALONG SHORE

SEA SUNSET

WHEN THE DARK COMES DOWN

HARBOR MOONRISE

BEFORE STORM

ON THE BAY

SHORE TWILIGHT

SONG OF THE SEAWIND

MORNING ALONG SHORE

OFF TO THE FISHING GROUND

IN PORT

THE GULLS

SUNRISE ALONG SHORE

THE SEA SPIRIT

HARBOR DAWN

MY LONGSHORE LASS

WHEN THE FISHING BOATS GO OUT

THE BRIDAL

THE SEA TO THE SHORE

THE VOYAGERS

SONGS OF THE HILLS AND WOODS

TWILIGHT AND I WENT HAND IN HAND

COME, REST AWHILE

AN APRIL NIGHT

RAIN ON THE HILL

FOR LITTLE THINGS

SPRING SONG

A DAY OFF

THE WIND

THE WOOD POOL

DOWN STREAM

ECHO DELL

THE ROVERS

AMONG THE PINES

A DAY IN THE OPEN

MIDNIGHT IN CAMP

THE HILL MAPLES

A SUMMER DAY

SEPTEMBER

IN LOVERS’ LANE

ON THE HILLS

AN AUTUMN EVENING

NOVEMBER EVENING

OUT O’ DOORS

IN THE DAYS OF THE GOLDEN ROD

A WINTER DAY

TWILIGHT

THE CALL OF THE WINDS

A WINTER DAWN

THE FOREST PATH

AT NIGHTFALL

THE TRUCE O’ NIGHT

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

TO MY ENEMY

AS THE HEART HOPES

TWO LOVES

THE CHRISTMAS NIGHT

IN AN OLD FARMHOUSE

A REQUEST

MEMORY PICTURES

DOWN HOME

THE CHOICE

TWILIGHT IN THE GARDEN

MY LEGACY

GRATITUDE

FANCIES

ONE OF THE SHEPHERDS

IF MARY HAD KNOWN

AT THE LONG SAULT

THE EXILE

THE THREE SONGS

IN AN OLD TOWN GARDEN

THE SEEKER

THE POET’S THOUGHT

THE CALL

THE OLD HOME CALLS

GENIUS

LOVE’S PRAYER

THE PRISONER

COMPANIONED

YOU

UNRECORDED

WITH TEARS THEY BURIED YOU TO-DAY

IN MEMORY OF “MAGGIE”

REALIZATION

THE GARDEN IN WINTER

THE DIFFERENCE

THE POET

THE MOTHER

TO ONE HATED

WHILE THE FATES SLEEP

THE FAREWELL

THE OLD MAN’S GRAVE

FOREVER

BY AN AUTUMN FIRE

DEDICATION

“TO THE MEMORY OF THE GALLANT

CANADIAN SOLDIERS WHO HAVE LAID

DOWN THEIR LIVES FOR THEIR COUNTRY

AND THEIR EMPIRE.”

THE WATCHMAN

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“And for fear of Him the keepers did shake and become as dead men.” — Matthew 23 and 4.

My Claudia, it is long since we have met, So kissed, so held each other heart to heart! I thought to greet thee as a conqueror comes, Bearing the trophies of his prowess home, But Jove hath willed it should be otherwise — Jove, say I? Nay, some mightier stranger-god Who thus hath laid his heavy hand on me, No victor, Claudia, but a broken man Who seeks to hide his weakness in thy love.

How beautiful thou art! The years have brought An added splendor to thy loveliness, With passion of dark eye and lip rose-red Struggling between its dimple and its pride. And yet there is somewhat that glooms between Thy love and mine; come, girdle me about With thy true arms, and pillow on thy breast This aching and bewildered head of mine; Here, where the fountain glitters in the sun Among the saffron lilies, I will tell — If so that words will answer my desire — The shameful fate that hath befallen me.

Down in Jerusalem they slew a man, Or god — it may be that he was a god — Those mad, wild Jews whom Pontius Pilate rules. Thou knowest Pilate, Claudia — a vain man, Too weak to govern such a howling horde As those same Jews. This man they crucified. I knew nought of him — had not heard his name Until the day they dragged him to his death; Then all tongues wagged about him and his deeds; Some said that he had claimed to be their King, Some that he had blasphemed their deity; ‘Twas certain he was poor and meanly born, No warrior he, nor hero; and he taught Doctrines that surely would upset the world; And so they killed him to be rid of him — Wise, very wise, if he were only man, Not quite so wise if he were half a god!

I know that strange things happened when he died — There was a darkness and an agony, And some were vastly frightened — not so I! What cared I if that mob of reeking Jews Had brought a nameless curse upon their heads? I had no part in that blood-guiltiness. At least he died; and some few friends of his — I think he had not very many friends — Took him and laid him in a garden tomb. A watch was set about the sepulchre, Lest these, his friends, should hide him and proclaim That he had risen as he had foretold. Laugh not, my Claudia. I laughed when I heard The prophecy. I would I had not laughed!

I, Maximus, was chosen for the guard With all my trusty fellows. Pilate knew I was a man who had no foolish heart Of softness all unworthy of a man! My eyes had looked upon a tortured slave As on a beetle crushed beneath my tread; I gloried in the splendid strife of war, Lusting for conquest; I had won the praise Of our stern general on a scarlet field; Red in my veins the warrior passion ran, For I had sprung from heroes, Roman born!

That second night we watched before the tomb; My men were merry; on the velvet turf, Bestarred with early blossoms of the Spring, They diced with jest and laughter; all around The moonlight washed us like a silver lake, Save where that silent, sealed sepulchre Was hung with shadow as a purple pall. A faint wind stirred among the olive boughs — Methinks I hear the sighing of that wind In all sounds since, it was so dumbly sad; But as the night wore on it died away And all was deadly stillness; Claudia, That stillness was most awful, as if some Great heart had broken and so ceased to beat! I thought of many things, but found no joy In any thought, even the thought of thee; The moon waned in the west and sickly grew Her light sucked from her in the breaking dawn — Never was dawn so welcome as that pale, Faint glimmer in the cloudless, brooding sky!

Claudia, how may I tell what came to pass? I have been mocked at when I told the tale For a crazed dreamer punished by the gods Because he slept on guard; but mock not thou! I could not bear it if thy lips should mock The vision dread of that Judean morn.

Sudden the pallid east was all aflame With radiance that beat upon our eyes As from noonday sun; and then we saw Two shapes that were as the immortal gods Standing before the tomb; around me fell My men as dead; but I, though through my veins Ran a cold tremor never known before, Withstood the shock and saw one shining shape Roll back the stone; the whole world seemed ablaze, And through the garden came a rushing wind Thundering a paeon as of victory.

Then that dead man came forth! Oh, Claudia, If thou coulds’t but have seen the face of him! Never was such a conqueror! Yet no pride Was in it — nought but love and tenderness, Such as we Romans scoff at; and his eyes Bespake him royal. Oh, my Claudia, Surely he was no Jew but very god!

Then he looked full upon me. I had borne Much staunchly, but that look I could not bear! What man may front a god and live? I fell Prone, as if stricken by a thunderbolt; And, though I died not, somewhat of me died That made me man. When my long stupor passed I was no longer Maximus — I was A weakling with a piteous woman-soul, All strength and pride, joy and ambition gone — My Claudia, dare I tell thee what foul curse Is mine because I looked upon a god?

I care no more for glory; all desire For conquest and for strife is gone from me, All eagerness for war; I only care To help and heal bruised beings, and to give Some comfort to the weak and suffering. I cannot even hate those Jews; my lips Speak harshly of them, but within my heart I feel a strange compassion; and I love All creatures, to the vilest of the slaves Who seem to me as brothers! Claudia, Scorn me not for this weakness; it will pass — Surely ‘twill pass in time and I shall be Maximus strong and valiant once again, Forgetting that slain god! and yet — and yet — He looked as one who could not be forgot!

SONGS OF THE SEA

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RAIN ALONG SHORE

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Wan white mists upon the sea, East wind harping mournfully All the sunken reefs along, Wail and heartbreak in its song, But adown the placid bay Fisher-folk keep holiday.

All the deeps beyond the bar Call and murmur from afar, ‘Plaining of a mighty woe Where the great ships come and go, But adown the harbor gray Fisher-folk keep holiday.

When the cloudy heavens frown, And the sweeping rain comes down, Boats at anchorage must bide In despite of time or tide; Making merry as they may Fisher-folk keep holiday.

Now is time for jest and song All the idle shore along, Now is time for wooing dear, Maidens cannot choose but hear; Daffing toil and care away Fisher-folk keep holiday.

Oh, the fretted reefs may wail, Every man has furled his sail! Oh, the wind may moan in fear, Every lad is with his dear! Mirth and laughter have their way, Fisher-folk keep holiday.

SEA SUNSET

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A gallant city has been builded far In the pied heaven, Bannered with crimson, sentinelled by star Of crystal even; Around a harbor of the twilight glowing, With jubilant waves about its gateways flowing.

A city of the Land of Lost Delight On seas enchanted, Presently to be lost in mist moon-white And music-haunted; Given but briefly to our raptured vision, With all its opal towers and shrines elysian.

Had we some mystic boat with pearly oar And wizard pilot, To guide us safely by the siren shore And cloudy islet, We might embark and reach that shining portal Beyond which linger dreams and joys immortal.

But we may only gaze with longing eyes On those far, sparkling Palaces in the fairy-peopled skies, O’er waters darkling, Until the winds of night come shoreward roaming, And the dim west has only gray and gloaming.

WHEN THE DARK COMES DOWN

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When the dark comes down, oh, the wind is on the sea With lisping laugh and whimper to the red reef’s threnody, The boats are sailing homeward now across the harbor bar With many a jest and many a shout from fishing grounds afar. So furl your sails and take your rest, ye fisher folk so brown, For task and quest are ended when the dark comes down.

When the dark comes down, oh, the landward valleys fill Like brimming cups of purple, and on every landward hill There shines a star of twilight that is watching evermore The low, dim lighted meadows by the long, dim-lighted shore, For there, where vagrant daisies weave the grass a silver crown, The lads and lassies wander when the dark comes down.

When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall asleep, And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep; There’s music in the song they sing and music on the sea, The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight’s litany, For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has ceased to frown, And every wave’s a lyric when the dark comes down.

HARBOR MOONRISE

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There is never a wind to sing o’er the sea On its dimpled bosom that holdeth in fee Wealth of silver and magicry; And the harbor is like to an ebon cup With mother-o’-pearl to the lips lined up, And brimmed with the wine of entranced delight, Purple and rare, from the flagon of night.

Lo, in the east is a glamor and gleam, Like waves that lap on the shores of dream, Or voice their lure in a poet’s theme! And behind the curtseying fisher boats The barge of the rising moon upfloats, The pilot ship over unknown seas Of treasure-laden cloud argosies.

Ere ever she drifts from the ocean’s rim, Out from the background of shadows dim, Stealeth a boat o’er her golden rim; Noiselessly, swiftly, it swayeth by Into the bourne of enchanted sky, Like a fairy shallop that seeks the strand Of a far and uncharted fairyland.

Now, ere the sleeping winds may stir, Send, O, my heart, a wish with her, Like to a venturous mariner; For who knoweth but that on an elfin sea She may meet the bark that is sailing to thee, And, winging thy message across the foam, May hasten the hour when thy ship comes home?

BEFORE STORM

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There’s a grayness over the harbor like fear on the face of a woman, The sob of the waves has a sound akin to a woman’s cry, And the deeps beyond the bar are moaning with evil presage Of a storm that will leap from its lair in that dour northeastern sky.

Slowly the pale mists rise, like ghosts of the sea, in the offing, Creeping all wan and chilly by headland and sunken reef, And a wind is wailing and keening like a lost thing ‘mid the islands, Boding of wreck and tempest, plaining of dolor and grief.

Swiftly the boats come homeward, over the grim bar crowding, Like birds that flee to their shelter in hurry and affright, Only the wild grey gulls that love the cloud and the clamor Will dare to tempt the ways of the ravining sea tonight.

But the ship that sailed at the dawning, manned by the lads who love us — God help and pity her when the storm is loosed on her track! O women, we pray tonight and keep a vigil of sorrow For those we speed at the dawning and may never welcome back!

ON THE BAY

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When the salt wave laps on the long, dim shore, And frets the reef with its windy sallies, And the dawn’s white light is threading once more The purple firs in the landward valleys, While yet the arms of the wide gray sea Are cradling the sunrise that is to be, The fisherman’s boat, through the mist afar, Has sailed in the wake of the morning star.

The wind in his cordage and canvas sings Its old glad song of strength and endeavor, And up from the heart of the ocean rings A call of courage and cheer forever; Toil and danger and stress may wait Beyond the arch of the morning’s gate, But he knows that behind him, upon the shore, A true heart prays for him evermore.

When a young moon floats in the hollow sky, Like a fairy shallop, all pale and golden, And over the rocks that are grim and high, The lamp of the lighthouse aloft is holden; When the bay is like to a lucent cup With glamor and glory and glow filled up, In the track of the sunset, across the foam, The fisherman’s boat comes sailing home.

The wind is singing a low, sweet song Of a rest well won and a toil well over, And there on the shore shines clear and strong The star of the homelight to guide the rover: And deep unto deep may call and wail But the fisherman laughs as he furls his sail, For the bar is passed and the reef is dim And a true heart is waiting to welcome him!

SHORE TWILIGHT

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Lo, find we here when the ripe day is o’er, A kingdom of enchantment by the shore!

Behold the sky with early stars ashine, A jewelled flagon brimmed with purple wine.

Like a dumb poet’s soul the troubled sea Moans of its joy and sorrow wordlessly;

But the glad winds that utter naught of grief Make silver speech by headland and by reef.

Saving for such there is no voice or call To mar the gracious silence over all —

Silence so tender ‘tis a sweet caress, A most beguiling and dear loneliness.

Lo, here we find a beckoning solitude, A winsome presence to be mutely wooed,

Which, being won, will teach us fabled lore, The old, old, gramarye of the sibyl shore!

Oh, what a poignant rapture thus to be Lingering at twilight by the ancient sea!

SONG OF THE SEA-WIND

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When the sun sets over the long blue wave I spring from my couch of rest, And I hurtle and boom over leagues of foam That toss in the weltering west, I pipe a hymn to the headlands high, My comrades forevermore, And I chase the tricksy curls of foam O’er the glimmering sandy shore.

The moon is my friend on clear, white nights When I ripple her silver way, And whistle blithely about the rocks Like an elfin thing at play; But anon I ravin with cloud and mist And wail ‘neath a curdled sky, When the reef snarls yon like a questing beast, And the frightened ships go by.

I scatter the dawn across the sea Like wine of amber flung From a crystal goblet all far and fine Where the morning star is hung; I blow from east and I blow from west Wherever my longing be — The wind of the land is a hindered thing But the ocean wind is free!

MORNING ALONG SHORE

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Hark, oh hark the elfin laughter All the little waves along, As if echoes speeding after Mocked a merry merman’s song!

All the gulls are out, delighting In a wild, uncharted quest — See the first red sunshine smiting Silver sheen of wing and breast!

Ho, the sunrise rainbow-hearted Steals athwart the misty brine, And the sky where clouds have parted Is a bowl of amber wine!

Sweet, its cradle-lilt partaking, Dreams that hover o’er the sea, But the lyric of its waking Is a sweeter thing to me!

Who would drowze in dull devotion To his ease when dark is done, And upon its breast the ocean Like a jewel wears the sun?

“Up, forsake a lazy pillow!” Calls the sea from cleft and cave, Ho, for antic wind and billow When the morn is on the wave!

OFF TO THE FISHING GROUND

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There’s a piping wind from a sunrise shore Blowing over a silver sea, There’s a joyous voice in the lapsing tide That calls enticingly; The mist of dawn has taken flight To the dim horizon’s bound, And with wide sails set and eager hearts We’re off to the fishing ground.

Ho, comrades mine, how that brave wind sings Like a great sea-harp afar! We whistle its wild notes back to it As we cross the harbor bar. Behind us there are the homes we love And hearts that are fond and true, And before us beckons a strong young day On leagues of glorious blue.

Comrades, a song as the fleet goes out, A song of the orient sea! We are the heirs of its tingling strife, Its courage and liberty. Sing as the white sails cream and fill, And the foam in our wake is long, Sing till the headlands black and grim Echo us back our song!

Oh, ‘tis a glad and heartsome thing To wake ere the night be done And steer the course that our fathers steered In the path of the rising sun. The wind and welkin and wave are ours Wherever our bourne is found, And we envy no landsman his dream and sleep When we’re off to the fishing ground.

IN PORT

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Out of the fires of the sunset come we again to our own — We have girdled the world in our sailing under many an orient star; Still to our battered canvas the scents of the spice gales cling, And our hearts are swelling within us as we cross the harbor bar.

Beyond are the dusky hills where the twilight hangs in the pine trees,