In Lover's Lane

I know a place for loitering 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-brimméd 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 Lovers' Lane.


Come, sweet-heart, then, and we will stray
Adown that valley, lingering long,
Until the rose is wet with dew,
And robins come to evensong,


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.

~L. M. Montgomery 

A Father's Prayer

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.
Build me a son whose wishbone will not be where his backbone should be; a son who will know Thee and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.
Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.
Build me a son whose heart will be clean, whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.
And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength.
Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, "I have not lived in vain."

~General Douglas MacArthur

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.

The daisies that dance and twinkle so

Were the laughter of children in long ago.

The sweetness of all true friendship yet

Lives in the breath of the mignonette.

To the white narcissus there must belong
The very delight of a maiden's song.

And the rose, all flowers of the earth above,
Was a perfect, rapturous thought of love.

Oh! surely the blossoms of all the springs
Must be the souls of beautiful things.

~Lucy Maud Montgomery

This is one of my favorite poems. I have kept a small piece of paper with this poem on it tucked into my Bible for several years. It serves as a reminder to me that if I look hard enough, I can find a wealth of beauty in this world
Lucy Maud Montgomery's writing, first through the Emily trilogy, then the Anne series, the Pat books, multiple short stories and poems, etc., intoduced me to her wonderful knack of seeing the world through the eyes of a wonder-struck child, of finding beauty all around her, of being courageous enough to write these thoughts and to develop these characters. Read my earlier post all about this amazing author here: The Alpine Path: Lucy Maud Montgomery