The Truce of Night by Lucy Maud Montgomery

A 5:00 World in New Bern, North Carolina 




The Truce of Night

Lo, it is dark,
Save for the crystal spark
Of a virgin star o'er the purpling lea,
Or the fine, keen, silvery grace of a young
Moon that is hung
O'er the priest-like firs by the sea;
Lo, it is still,
Save for the wind of the hill,
And the luring, primeval sounds that fill
The moist and scented air¬
'Tis the truce o' night, away with unrest and care!

Now we may forget
Love's fever and hate's fret,
Forget to-morrow and yesterday;
And the hopes we buried in musky gloom
Will come out of their tomb,
Warm and poignant and gay;
We may wander wide,
With only a wish for a guide,
By heath and pool where the Little Folk bide,
We may share in fairy mirth,
And partake once more in the happy thoughts of earth.

Lo, we may rest
Here on her cradling breast
In the wonderful time of the truce o' night,
And sweet things that happened long ago,
Softly and slow,
Will creep back to us in delight;
And our dreams may be
Compact of young melody,
Just such as under the Eden Tree,
'Mid the seraphim's lullabies,
Eve's might have been ere banished from Paradise.

Lucy Maud Montgomery

More Kindred Post Cards

Post Cards from Maud's Island

After returning home from PEI I soon discovered that the pixels on my new camera were set too low for quality photos.  Thereby, my PEI photos--though not completely spoiled---could have turned out better.

My new hobby is to buy very cheap photo frames at yard sales and then try to tweak my most sentimental
photos into something pretty in order to frame them to the walls in my apartment.

So, I've been working with the PEI photos trying to transform them to what they should have been.

Not 100%, but not bad either.  I may create these in to postcards for my Kindred friends at Christmas.

I feel that I am meant to return to PEI to try again.  Oh, may it be so!!

Maud's "little knack" and her advice to aspiring writers

Drawing by Michael Osterhus

On Facebook I saw a drawing that my son (an Art Student) made of a an alarm clock and a dial with some of the numbers missing. It was interesting, and it made me not uncomfortable (being a person afflicted with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder)

Anyway, as most things do, the picture made me think of Maud and chronology and the precision and rhythm in her writing. Her method ticks in rhythm just like a clock. I like the way she writes. I like it a lot.

She got me from "hello" in the first paragraph of Anne of Green Gables. See how it ticks in a rhythmic fashion (it doesn't flow, not to me it doesn't flow--oh no! --it ticks with rhythm)

"Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof."  (AoGG, Chapter 1))

So on to the other purpose of my post. A friend on the List sent me an article that Maud wrote to the Dalhousie U concerning advice to aspiring writers. The bottom line? "Have something to say."

So I'm guessing there is more to that story. I'm guessing "Have something to say and then make it tick!"

"9LoLMM" - Maud's Birthday In Cavendish

My Kindred buddy, Adam Michael James, mentions me in this video tour of Cavendish which was filmed last November 30th on Maud's birthday.

November - "The Queen's Class is Organized"

"It was nearly dark, for the full November twilight had fallen around Green Gables, and the only light in the kitchen came from the dancing red flames in the stove."
  Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery