In The Harbour: From The French

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 For ever and for ever 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 foot-fall 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!"