And, as they talked, the young girl’s life Broke into bloom and song; And, one with all the happy things That burst their buds, and spread their wings, Her very blood was singing, And at her pulses ringing; Life tingled through her, sweet and strong, From secret sources springing: And, all at once, a quickening strife Of hopes and fears was in her heart, Where only wondering joy had been; And, kindling with a sudden light, Her eyes had sight Of things unseen: And, in a flash, a woman grown, With pangs of knowledge, fierce and keen, She knew strange things unknown. A year went by: at Whitsuntide, He brought her home, a bride. He planted her no lilac tree Upon their wedding day: And strange distress came over her, As on the bed she lay: For as he stood beside the bed, The scent of lilac filled the room. Her heart knew well he smelt the bloom, And thought upon the dead. Yet, she was glad to be his wife: And when the blossom-time was past, Her days no more were overcast; And deep she drank of life: And, thronged with happy household cares, Her busy days went pleasantly: Her foot was light upon the stairs; And every room rang merrily, And merrily, and merrily, With song and mirth, for unto her His heart seemed hers, and hers alone: Until new dreams began to stir Her wondering breast with bliss unknown Of some new miracle to be: And, though she moved more quietly, And seldom sang, yet, happily, From happy dawn to happy night The mother’s eyes shone bright.