Here you will find thePoemThe Good Joanof poet Lizette Woodworth Reese
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.
