One morning, I found Lilacs in the rain:
The early lark had ceased to swirl and sing
And the scampering squirrels had ceased to play,
But I lingered by those Lilacs, weeping.
Each one seemed too sweet to outlive the morn,
Thickening the air with their dying breath;
I thought of all the beauties May has borne—
How sweetly they welcome Death.
Oh! how dreamy was the summer day,
Streams like pristine angels were sighing,
The trees rang out like Aeolian harps—
Only you, sweet Lilacs, were shivering.
Was the mid-May sunlight still too soft,
Or did a soft breeze come and whisper
Tidings of some approaching season—
Did she mention the coming of winter?
David is a poet, translator and linguist based in Montreal.