The Complete Works of L M Montgomery, page 771
Scent of mint in its shadowy closes,
Clean, gay winds at night.
(Some nights for sleeping and some to ride
With the broomstick witches far and wide.)
A goodly crop of figs to gather,
With a thistle or two to prick and sting;
Since a harvesting too harmless is rather
An unadventurous thing.
(And now and then, spite of reason or rule,
The chance to be a bit of a fool.)
I wish you a thirst that can never be sated
For all the loveliness earth can yield,
Slim, cool birches whitely mated,
Dawn on an April field.
(And never too big a bill to pay
When the Fiddler finds he must up and away.)
The Land Of Some Day
Across the river of By-and-By,
That is bridged by Dreams, they say,
Is a wonderful, beautiful, mystic land
And this realm is named Some Day.
And everything fair in that country is,
And pleasant to ear and eye.
And it doesn’t really seem hard to cross
The river of By-and-By.
The fame that we mean to win is there,
The success for which we yearn,
There the friends await us, we hope to make,
And the fortunes we hope to earn.
The books we’ll write or the songs we’ll sing,
Or the power we intend to sway;
All the wonderful things that we mean to do
Are found in this fair Some Day.
And everyone sometimes intends to reach
That land that looks so near,
But somehow it seems to drift farther off
With every succeeding year.
Some never contrive to make a start,
In spite of all they’ve planned;
And others have striven but never reached
That misty alluring strand.
Some fell through Dreams into By-and-By,
And others lost their way
And wandered many a weary step,
But never reached Some Day.
Oh, then beware of that treacherous shore,
Though it seems so fair to view,
For I’ve heard it whispered that pleasant land
Is but a mirage untrue.
And that no matter how long we search,
It will seem just as far away,
For nobody ever yet was known
Who really reached Some Day.
The Only Way
To chisel a statue unerringly
From the formless marble to symmetry,
How firm must the hand of the sculptor be! Deep in his brain must he shape the thought
Ere in loveliness of stone it be wrought,
Hard must he toil at his great design,
Ere the work be perfect in curve and line.
To paint a picture that holds in fee
The treasure of beauty’s alchemy,
How skilful the hand of the artist must be!
Ere the vast conception that burst to bloom
In his soul on the canvas fair finds room,
Many and long are the patient days
He must give to his task to win its praise.
To shape a life into harmony
With God’s plans for it, gracious and free,
How true must the hand of the workman be!
Not in a day may the task be done,
Not with ease may success be won.
Hard must we work and aspire and pray —
Earnest toil is the only way!
The Revelation
Once to my side a veilèd figure came
To bear me company.
Deeming that Sorrow was her bitter name,
I strove from her to flee.
She clasped my hand in hers and led me on
Beneath a clouded sky;
Till many dour and dreary days had gone,
Right sullenly went I.
But as time passed I grew to love my guide,
No more escape I sought;
At last contented by her gentle side
To learn the lessons taught.
Then lifted she her veil and showed to me
Her calm eternal youth.
“Lo! Mortal, who has known my ministry,
Behold me — I am Truth.”
A Smile
What is a smile? A sudden gleam
Of sunshine welling in the eyes,
That quickly comes and quickly flies,
The outlet of some radiant dream?
Well, then a smile’s a blithesome thing
Whose pure delight and painless birth
Might bear to every soul on earth
The gladness of its hidden spring.
What is a smile? A glint of scorn
At some poor soul’s mistake or fear,
The keen refinement of a sneer
From secret hate or malice bom?
Nay, then a smile’s a hateful thing
And bears a sharp unpitying dart
To many a wearied aching heart,
To linger there and wound and sting.
What is a smile? The gentle glow
Upon the edges of a tear,
To chastened grief and sorrow near,
Yet with a blessing to bestow?
Ah, then a smile’s a holy thing
From a tired spirit’s victory sent
To whisper hope and courage blent
To all the weak and suffering.
What is a smile? A treacherous screen
To lure unwary, heedless feet,
And mask the workings of deceit
Behind its beauty all unseen?
Nay, then a smile’s a loathsome thing
That carries in its gleam a blight
To murder joy and kill delight,
And over life a shadow fling.
What is a smile? A shy glad burst
Of love in true and timid eyes,
Bewildered with the sweet surprise
Of tenderness in secret nurst?
Ah, then a smile’s a glorious thing,
Love’s own inspired oracle
To say what words can never tell,
And thrill each heart’s responsive string.
Success
Come, drain the cup held to our lips at last,
Though it may yield the briny taste of tears,
For this we have forgone our joy of youth,
For this we have lived bitter, patient years...
What tang does brew of fig and thistle keep?
Let us drink deep!
Oh, shudder not... the goblet is of gold!
For this we bent our knee at a grim shrine
While others danced to kind and merry gods,
For this we put aside life’s choicest wine...
To slake our still unsated thirst lift up
This sacramental cup.
Surely’twill pay for all that we have missed...
Laughter unlaughed, sweet hours of love and sleep,
Hungers unsatisfied and barren dreams...
How the sly years are mocking us! Drink deep
And vaunt... for who can guess it is a lie?...
The price was not too high.
Was it for such a devil’s jorum we
Bartered our precious things and turned from ease,
Winning by dint of many a gallant day
Splendid defeats and abject victories?
But see you now how bright the diamonds wink?
Be brave... once more... and drink!
The Test
All the great house sat hushed and listening
There’neath the music’s spell,
Laughter and tears in bright eyes were glistening
When the painted curtain fell;
Thunderous applause uprose to greet,
I was their darling then.
Incense and homage at my feet
They poured, those women and men!
Think you then that my heart was flattered,
Dream I was satisfied?
Praise or censure, it nothing mattered
When I had glanced aside;
There in the shadows across my right
Sat the Artist, old and grey,
Never a motion made he that night
To approve or applaud my play!
Silent he sat when the house was cheering
— Bitter that hour to me!
What cared I for the fickle veering
Of fancy’s wind? It was he,
He, the master, I strove to please.
Naught had my hope availed,
That grim old veteran of victories
Was silent... I had failed.
The Two Guests
Came on a time two guests to me
Named of the angels Joy and Sorrow
Said, “We seek to sojourn with thee,
One to-day and one to-morrow.
Wisdom both in our hands we hold
That cannot be bought by toil or gold.
Choose then which shall be first to stay,”
“Joy,” I cried, “be my guest to-day.”
Joy came in and abode with me,
Taught me much of the hearts around me,
The meaning of all glad things that be,
Left me wiser than she had found me,
Passed from my door at set of sun,
Saying, “With thee my work is done.”
Thought I, grieving to lose my guest,
Joy of all teachers is wisest and best.
Then took Sorrow my empty heart,
Filled it up with her brewage bitter,
Deep I drank to my pain and smart,
Face to face with that gloomy sitter
Lo! From my eyes there fell away
Mists that had dimmed them till that day.
Rightly read I then human strife,
Saw far down to the deeps of life.
Saw, and knew that Joy had not
To me such clearness of vision given,
For the barriers between thought and thought
By Sorrow’s hand might alone be riven.
Costly the price that my soul must pay
But the boon so purchased was mine for aye!
Thought I, loving at last my guest,
“Sorrow of teachers is wisest and best.”
The Words I Did Not Say
Many a word my tongue has uttered
Has brought me sorrow at eventide,
And I have grieved with a grieving bitter
Over speech of anger and scorn and pride,
But never a word in my heart remembered
As I sit with myself at the close of day,
Has pierced with repentance more unavailing
Than have the words I did not say.
The word of cheer that I might have whispered
To a heart that was breaking with weight of woe,
The word of hope that I might have given
To one whose courage was ebbing low,
The word of warning I should have spoken
In the ear of one who walked astray.
Oh, how they come with a sad rebuking
Those helpful words that I did not say;
So many and sweet: If I had but said them
How glad my heart then would have been;
What a dew of blessing would fall upon it
As the day’s remembrances gather in;
But I said them not and the chance forever
Is gone with the moments of yesterday,
And I sit alone with a spirit burdened
By all the words that I did not say.
The morrow will come with its new beginning,
Glad and grand, through the morning’s gates —
Shall I not then with this thought beside me
Go bravely forth to the work that waits?
Giving a message of cheer and kindness
To all I meet on the world’s highway,
So that I never will grieve at twilight
Over the words that I did not say.
Which Has More Patience — Man Or Woman?
As my letter must be brief,
I’ll at once state my belief,
And this it is — that, since the world began,
And Adam first did say,
“’Twas Eve led me astray,”
A woman hath more patience than a man.
If a man’s obliged to wait
For some one who’s rather late,
No mortal ever got in such a stew,
And if something can’t be found
That he’s sure should be around,
The listening air sometimes grows fairly blue.
Just watch a man who tries
To soothe a baby’s cries,
Or put a stove pipe up in weather cold,
Into what a state he’ll get;
How he’ll fuss and fume and fret
And stamp and bluster round and storm and scold!
Some point to Job with pride,
As an argument for their side!
Why, it was so rare a patient man to see,
That when one was really found,
His discoverers were bound
To preserve for him a place in history!
And while I admit it’s true
That man has some patience too,
And that woman isn’t always sweetly calm,
Still I think all must agree
On this central fact — that she
For general all-round patience bears the palm.
All A board For Dreamland
The stars are a-wink in the drowsy skies.
The shadows are softly creeping down
Alas and alack for the sleepy eyes!
It’s time for the ferry to Dreamland Town.
Here are the passengers one and all
The fare is a kiss and away we go
Never an accident may befall
For mother is captain and crew you know.
Away and away from the daytime shore
To a lullaby song we are drifting down
With a sail of moonshine and silver oar
In a poppy shallop to Dreamland Town.
Past the realms of elf and fay
And the caves of giants on either hand
Never a moment may we stay
In even the wonderful Brownie Land.
Captain, sing but a minute more
For the eyes of blue and the eyes of brown
Then the fare is paid and the trip is o’er
And here we are safely in Dreamland Town.
The Grumble Family
There’s a family nobody likes to meet,
They live, it is said, on Complaining Street,
In the city of Never-are-Satisfled,
The river of Discontent beside.
They growl at that and they growl at this.
Whatever comes there is something amiss:
And whether their station be high or humble
They all are known by the name of Grumble.
The weather is always too hot or cold,
Summer and winter alike they scold;
Nothing goes right with the folks you meet
Down on that gloomy Complaining Street.
They growl at the rain and they growl at the sun,
In fact their growling is never done.
And if everything pleased them, there isn’t a doubt
They’d growl that they’d nothing to grumble about.
But the queerest thing is that not one of the same
Can be brought to acknowledge his family name,
For never a Grumbler will own that he
Is connected with it at all, you see.
And the worst thing is that if any one stays
Among them too long he will learn their ways,
And before he dreams of the terrible jumble
He’s adopted into the family of Grumble.
So it were wisest to keep our feet
From wandering into Complaining Street;
And never to growl whatever we do
Lest we be mistaken for Grumblers too.
Let us learn to walk with a smile and song,
No matter if things do sometimes go wrong,
And then, be our station high or humble,
We’ll never belong to the family of Grumble.
In Twilight Land
In twilight land there are beautiful things —
The soft low songs that a mother sings,
Good-night kisses so fond and sweet,
Patters and twinkles of dimpled feet,
And the brightness of dreams that come sliding down
On a starry stairway from Slumbertown.
In twilight land where the shadows creep
Dear little eyes fall fast asleep,
Birds and blossoms have gone to rest
And babies are cuddled to mother’s breast,
And always are tenderly whispered there
The sacred words of the children’s prayer.
The Quest Of Lazy-Lad
Have you heard the tale of Lazy-Lad
Who dearly loved to shirk,
For he “hated” his lessons and “hated” his tasks,
And he “hated” to have to work?
So he sailed away on a summer day
Over the ocean blue;
Said Lazy-Lad, “I will seek till I find
The Land of Nothing-to-do.
For that is a jolly land I know,
With never a lesson to learn,
And never an errand to bother a fellow
Till he doesn’t know where to turn.
And I’m told the folks in that splendid place
May frolic the whole year through,
So everybody good-by — I’m off
For the Land of Nothing-to-do!”
So Lazy-Lad he sailed to the west
And then to the east sailed he,
And he sailed north and he sailed south
Over many a league of sea,
And many a country fair and bright
And busy came into view;
But never, alas, could he find the coast
Of the Land of Nothing-to-do.
Then Lazy-Lad sailed back again,
And a wiser lad was he,
For he said, “I’ve wandered to every land
That is in the geography,
And in each and all I’ve found that folks
Are busy the whole year through,
