From the French. Will ever the dear days come back again?

WILL ever the dear days come back again,

Those days of June, when lilacs were in bloom,

And bluebirds sang their sonnets in the gloom

Of leaves that roofed them in from sun or rain?

I know not; but a presence will remain

Forever and forever in this room,

Formless, diffused in air; like a perfume,—

A phantom of the heart, and not the brain.

Delicious days! when every spoken word

Was like a footfall nearer and more near,

And a mysterious knocking at the gate

Of the heart’s secret places, and we heard

In the sweet tumult of delight and fear

A voice that whispered, “Open, I cannot wait!”