We told her that her far off shore was bleak and dour to view, <br />And that her sky was dull and mirk while ours was smiling blue. <br />She only sighed in answer, "It is even as ye say, <br />But oh, the ragged splendor when the sun bursts through the gray!" <br /> <br />We brought her dew-wet roses from our fairest summer bowers, <br />We bade her drink their fragrance, we heaped her lap with flowers; <br />She only said, with eyes that yearned, "Oh, if ye might have brought <br />The pale, unscented blossoms by my father's lowly cot!" <br /> <br />We bade her listen to the birds that sang so madly sweet, <br />The lyric of the laughing stream that dimpled at our feet; <br />"But, O," she cried, "I weary for the music wild that stirs <br />When keens the mournful western wind among my native firs!" <br /> <br />We told her she had faithful friends and loyal hearts anear, <br />We prayed her take the fresher loves, we prayed her be of cheer; <br />"Oh, ye are kind and true," she wept, "but woe's me for the grace <br />Of tenderness that shines upon my mother's wrinkled face!"<br /><br />Lucy Maud Montgomery<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-exile/
