Fancies

Pansies and Forget-me-nots/Albert Lavault 

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

A Winter Day

Fox in Snow/Gustave Courbet

I The air is silent save where stirs A bugling breeze among the firs; The virgin world in white array Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day; All heaven blooms rarely in the east Where skies are silvery and fleeced, And o'er the orient hills made glad The morning comes in wonder clad; Oh, 'tis a time most fit to see How beautiful the dawn can be! II Wide, sparkling fields snow-vestured lie Beneath a blue, unshadowed sky; A glistening splendor crowns the woods And bosky, whistling solitudes; In hemlock glen and reedy mere The tang of frost is sharp and clear; Life hath a jollity and zest, A poignancy made manifest; Laughter and courage have their way At noontide of a winter's day. III Faint music rings in wold and dell, The tinkling of a distant bell, Where homestead lights with friendly glow Glimmer across the drifted snow; Beyond a valley dim and far Lit by an occidental star, Tall pines the marge of day beset Like many a slender minaret, Whence priest-like winds on crystal air Summon the reverent world to prayer. Lucy Maud Montgomery

Summer Day

Summer/Giuseppe Arcimboldo

The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.


II

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.


III

Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield o

Lucy Maud Montgomery