THE lilacs blossom at the door,
The early rose
Whispers a promise to her buds,
And they unclose.
There is a perfume everywhere,
A breath of song,
A sense of some divine return
For waiting long.
Who knows but some imprisoned joy
From bondage breaks,—
Some exiled and enchanted hope
From dreams awakes?
Who knows but you are coming back
To comfort me
For all the languor and the pain,
O come! For one brief spring return,
Love's tryst to keep;
Then let me share the Stygian fruit,
The wintry sleep!