A long the thousand roads of France,
Now there, and here, swift as a glance,
A cloud, a mist blown down the sky,
Good Joan of Arc goes riding by.
In Domremy at candlelight,
The orchards blowing rose and white
About the shadowy houses lie;
And Joan of Arc goes riding by.
On Avignon there falls a hush,
Brief as the singing of a thrush
Across old gardens April-high;
And Joan of Arc goes riding by.
The Good Joan
Lizette Woodworth Reese
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Poem topics: cloud, rose, sky, white, good, long, high, swift, april, april fools, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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