I

O lilac, in whose purple well
Youth in perpetuo doth dwell,
My fancy feels thy fragrant spell.

II

Of all that morning dewdrops feed,
All flowers of garden, field, or mead,
Thou art the first in childhood's creed.

III

And even to me thy breath, in spring,
Hath power, a little while, to bring
Back to my heart its blossoming.

IV

I seem again, with pupil's pace,
And happy, shining, morning-face,
Bound schoolward, running learning's race.

V

Thou, too, recall'st the tender time,
After my primer, ere my prime,
When love was born and life was rhyme:

VI

My morning ramble, all alone;
My moonlit walk by haunted stone;
My love, that ere it fledged was flown!

VII

At noon, tired out with hateful task,
I fling aside my worldling's mask,
And for my bunch of lilac ask.

VIII

At vesper-time, Celestial tea
Hath no refreshment like to thee,
Whose breath is nourishment for me.

IX

At midnight, when my friends are gone,
And I sit down to ponder on
The day, what it hath lost or won,

X

Thy perfume, like a flageolet
That once, by dark Bolsena's lake,
What time the sun made golden set,
I heard (and seem to hear it yet)!
A thousand memories doth awake
Of busy boyhood's vanished powers;
Of young ambition, flushed with praise;
Of old companions, and of hours
That had the sunshine of whole days;
Of Italy, and Roman ways;
Of Tuscan ladies, courteous, fair,
And kind as beautiful — forbear!
O Memory — those impassioned eyes!
Beware! for that way madness lies!

XI

Sweet lilac, thou art come to June,
And all our orioles are in tune:
Thy doom is — to be withering soon.

XII

And so, farewell! for other flowers
Must have their day; and mortal powers
Cannot love all things at all hours.

XIII

Soon I shall have my flower de luce,
And the proud peony, whose use
It is to teach me pride's abuse.

XIV

For proud am I as proud can be;
But when that crimson gaud I see,
My lilac's memory comes to me.