Ii

When orchards are in bloom again My heart will bound, my blood will beat, To hear the red-bird so repeat, On boughs of rosy stain, His blithe, loud song,--like some far strain From out the past,--among the bloom,-- (Where bee, and wasp, and hornet boom)-- Fresh, redolent with rain.

When orchards are in bloom once more, Invasions of lost dreams will draw My feet, like some insistent law, Through blossoms to her door: In dreams I’ll ask her, as before, To let me help her at the well; And fill her pail; and long to tell My love as once of yore.

I shall not speak until we quit The farm-gate, leading to the lane And orchard, all in bloom again, ’Mid which the wood-doves sit And coo; and through whose blossoms flit The cat-birds crying while they fly: Then tenderly I’ll speak, and try To tell her all of it.

And in my dream again she’ll place Her hand in mine, as oft before,-- When orchards are in bloom once more,-- With all her old-time grace: And we will tarry till a trace Of sunset dyes the heav’ns; and then-- We’ll part, and, parting, I again Will bend and kiss her face.

And homeward, dreaming, I will go Along the cricket-chirring ways, While sunset, like one crimson blaze Of blossoms, lingers low: And my lost youth again I’ll know, And all her love, when spring is here-- Hers! hers! now dead this many a year Whose love still haunts me so.