Oh, lilac bloom, strange that so slight a thing
As thou, is strong to roll away the stone
From memory’s grave, and set the dead past free
To claim yet once brief kinship with its own.
IN AN OLD GARDEN
Yellow roses, purple pansies,
Tufts of heavy-headed stocks;
Either side the quaint old gateway
Blazing, torch-like hollyhocks.
Sweet peas tossing airy banners,
Saintly lilies bending low,
Daisies, powdering all the green sward
With a shower of summer snow.
Boxwood borders—yews fantastic—
Wallflowers that with every sigh
Spill such scent that e’en the brown bees,
Reel with rapture wandering by.
And the pear trees, long arms stretching
O’er the sunny gable wall,
Scarce can hold their ruddy nurslings
Ripening where the warm beams fall.
Oh, the ecstasy of living!
How it thrills my life to-day!
I can almost hear the flower-bells
Tinkle where my footsteps stray!
In a garden God first placed man,
There first woke Love’s magic thrill;
And methinks a breath of Eden
Clings to earth’s old gardens still.
A MOTHER’S GRIEF
To a great wide city all alone,
Long, long ago went our baby queen—
No name but hers on the white headstone,
That gleams to the moon from its mound of green!
None of her own did welcome her there—
Not a grain of kindred dust doth wave
In the flowers that out of the tears of despair
Have arched a rainbow over her grave.