English poem
The Coming of Love
by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay (1875–1928)
HOW shall I know? Shall I hear Love pass In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree? Shall I follow his passing over the grass By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free?
Shall I wake one day to a sky all blue And meet with Spring in a crowded street? Shall I open a door and, looking through, Find, on a sudden, the world more sweet?
How shall I know?—last night I lay Counting the hours' dreary sum With naught in my heart save a wild dismay And a fear that whispered, "Love is come!"