All in the lilac-rain,
—Tender and sweet,
Brushing the window-pane
—Sudden—and fleet!
Came the dear wraith of her
—Out of lost Mays—
(Ah, but the faith of her,
—True to old ways!)

Scarcely her face I knew
—Dim in the wet;
Only her eyes of blue
—Who could forget!
Hands full of lilacs too—
—Lilac crowned, yet!

These were the flowers she loved
—In the far years;
These were the showers she loved—
—Light as her tears!
These were the hours she loved—
—Hope chasing fears!

Veiled in the lilac-rain
—Comes she—and goes. . . .
Sun through the clouds again,
—Fresh the wind blows.
Mine, a swift pleasure-pain
—None other knows.