THE BLOSSOM-CHILD

The flowers, the haunted flowers of May,

They bring delight, they bring heartache;

What wondrous things to me they say!

So bright — so dim, so sad — so gay,

No stem of theirs I dare to break —

The flowers — the haunted flowers of May!

When lip to lip they softly lay —

As soft, as still, as flake on flake,

What wondrous things to me they say!

For lo! there comes with them to play,

A child, whose feet no imprint make —

The flowers — the haunted flowers of May!

From Childhood's Land they take their way,

They bloom but for that flower-child's sake —

What wondrous things to me they say!

With them it lives, their little day;

With them, each new-born year,‘ twill wake;

The flowers — the haunted flowers of May,

What wondrous things to me they say!