In a Time of Flowers

O Love! do you know the spring is here

With the lure of her magic flute? . . .

The old earth breaks into passionate bloom

At the kiss of her fleet, gay foot.

The burgeoning leaves on the almond boughs,

And the leaves on the blue wave's breast

Are crowned with the limpid and delicate light

Of the gems in your turban-crest.

The bright pomegranate buds unfold,

The frail wild lilies appear,

Like the blood-red jewels you used to fling

O'er the maidens that danced at the feast of spring

To welcome the new-born year.

O Love! do you know the spring is here? . . .

The dawn and the dusk grow rife

With scent and song and tremulous mirth,

The blind, rich travail of life.

The winds are drunk with the odorous breath

Of henna, sarisha, and neem . . .

Do they ruffle your cold, strange, tranquil sleep,

Or trouble your changeless dream

With poignant thoughts of the world you loved,

And the beauty you held so dear?

Do you long for a brief, glad hour to wake

From your lonely slumber for sweet love's sake,

To welcome the new-born year?