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Poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery


I smiled with skeptic mocking where they told me you were dead,
You of the airy laughter and lightly twinkling feet;
They tell a dream that haunted a chill gray dawn, I said,
Death could not touch or claim a thing so vivid and so sweet! 

I looked upon you coffined amid your virgin flowers,
But even that white silence could bring me no belief:
She lies in maiden sleep, I said. and in the youngling hours
Her sealed dark eyes will open to scorn our foolish grief. 

But when I went at moonrise to our ancient trysting place. . . . . 
And, oh, the wind was keening in the fir-boughs overhead! . . . . 
And you came never to me with your little gypsy face,
Your lips and hands of welcome, I knew that you were dead!

Lucy Maud Montgomery

Lucy Maud Montgomery's other poems:
  1. Companioned
  2. In an Old Farmhouse
  3. Rain along Shore
  4. Harbor Moonrise
  5. In an Old Town Garden

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