Oh, the scent of the hyacinth blossom!
The joy of that night,
But the grievous awaking!
The speed of my flight
Thro' the dawn redly breaking!
Gray lay the still sea;
Naked hillside and lea;
And gray with night frost
The wide garden I crossed!
But the hyacinth beds were a-bloom.
I stooped and plucked one--
In an instant 'twas done,--
And I heard, not far off, a gun boom!
In my bosom
I thrust the crushed blossom;
And turned, and looked back
Where She stood at her pane
Waving sadly farewell once again;
Then down the dim track
Fled amain,
With the flower in my bosom.
Oh, the scent of the hyacinth blossom!



TO A LADY,

AFTER HEARING HER READ KEATS' "NIGHTINGALE."