THE LILAC TREE

“I planted her the lilac tree

Upon our wedding day:

But, when the time of blossom came,

With her dead babe she lay...

And, as I stood beside the bed,

The scent of lilac filled the room:

And always when I smell the bloom,

I think upon the dead.”

He spoke: and, speaking, sauntered on,

The young girl by his side:

And then they talked no more of death,

But only of the happy things

That burst their buds, and spread their wings,

And break in song at Whitsuntide,

That burst to bloom at Whitsuntide,

And bring the summer in a breath.

And, as they talked, the young girl's life

Broke into bloom and song;

And, one with all the happy things

That burst their buds, and spread their wings,

Her very blood was singing,

And at her pulses ringing;

Life tingled through her, sweet and strong,

From secret sources springing:

And, all at once, a quickening strife

Of hopes and fears was in her heart,

Where only wondering joy had been;

And, kindling with a sudden light,

Her eyes had sight

Of things unseen:

And, in a flash, a woman grown,

With pangs of knowledge, fierce and keen,

She knew strange things unknown.

A year went by: at Whitsuntide,

He brought her home, a bride.

He planted her no lilac tree

Upon their wedding day:

And strange distress came over her,

As on the bed she lay:

For as he stood beside the bed,

The scent of lilac filled the room.

Her heart knew well he smelt the bloom,

And thought upon the dead.

Yet, she was glad to be his wife:

And when the blossom-time was past,

Her days no more were overcast;

And deep she drank of life:

And, thronged with happy household cares,

Her busy days went pleasantly:

Her foot was light upon the stairs;

And every room rang merrily,

And merrily, and merrily,

With song and mirth, for unto her

His heart seemed hers, and hers alone:

Until new dreams began to stir

Her wondering breast with bliss unknown

Of some new miracle to be:

And, though she moved more quietly,

And seldom sang, yet, happily,

From happy dawn to happy night

The mother's eyes shone bright.

But, as her time drew near,

Her heart was filled with fear:

And when the lilac burst to bloom,

And brought the Summer in a breath,

A presence seemed to fill the room,

And fill her heart with death:

And, as her husband lay asleep,

Beside her, on the bed,

Into her breast the thought would creep

That he was dreaming of the dead.

And all the mother's heart in her

Was mad with mother-jealousy

Of that sweet scented lilac tree;

And, blind with savage ecstasy,

Night after night she lay,

Until the blink of day,

With staring eyes and wild,

Half-crazy, lest the lilac tree

Should come betwixt him and his child.

By day, her mother-tenderness

Was turned to brooding bitterness,

Whene'er she looked upon the bloom:

And, if she slept at all at night,

Her heart would waken in affright

To smell the lilac in the gloom:

And, when it rained, it seemed to her,

The fresh keen scent was bitterer:

Though, when the blaze of morning came,

And flooded all the room,

The perfume burnt her heart like flame.

As, in the dark,

One night she lay,

A dark thought shot

Through her hot heart:

And, from a spark

Of smouldering wrong,

Hate burst to fire.

Now, quaking cold,

Now, quivering hot,

With breath indrawn,

Through time untold,

She‘ waited dawn

That lagged too long

For her desire.

And when, at last, at break of day,

Her husband rose, and went his way

About his daily toil,

She, too, arose, and dressed,

With frenzy in her breast;

And stole downstairs, and took a spade,

And digged about the lilac roots,

And laid them bare of soil:

Then, with a jagged blade,

She hacked and slashed the naked roots —

She hacked and slashed with frantic hand,

Until the lilac scarce might stand;

And then again the soil she laid

About the bleeding roots —

( It seemed to her, the sap ran red

About the writhing roots! )

But, now her heart was eased of strife,

Since she had sapped the lilac's life;

And, frenzy-spent, she dropped the knife:

Then, dizzily she crept to bed,

And lay all day as one nigh dead.

That night a sudden storm awoke,

And struck the slumbering earth to life:

And, as the heavens in thunder broke,

She lay exulting in the strife

Of flash and peal,

And gust and rain;

For now, she thought: the lightning-stroke

Will lay the lilac low;

And he need never know

How I... and then, again,

Her heart went cold with dread,

As she remembered that the knife

Still lay beneath the lilac tree...

A blinding flash,

A lull, a crash,

A rattling peal...

And suddenly,

She felt her senses reel:

And, crying out: “The knife! The knife!”

Her pangs were on her...

Dawn was red,

When she awoke upon the bed

To life — and knew her babe was dead.

She rose: and cried out fearfully:

“The lilac tree! The lilac tree!”

Then fell back in a swoon.

But, when she waked again at noon,

And looked upon her sleeping child;

And laid her hand upon its head,

No more the mother's heart was wild,

For hate and fear were dead;

And all her brooding bitterness

Broke into tears of tenderness.

And, not a word the father said

About the lilac, lying dead.

A week went by, and Whitsuntide

Came round: and, as she lay,

And looked upon the newborn day,

Her husband, lying by her side,

Spoke to her very tenderly:

“Wife,‘ tis again our wedding day,

And we will plant a lilac tree

In memory of the babe that died.”

They planted a white lilac tree

Upon their wedding day:

And, when the time of blossom came,

With kindly hearts they lay.

The sunlight streamed upon the bed:

The scent of lilac filled the room:

And, as they smelt the breathing bloom,

They thought upon the dead.