But, as her time drew near, Her heart was filled with fear: And when the lilac burst to bloom, And brought the Summer in a breath, A presence seemed to fill the room, And fill her heart with death: And, as her husband lay asleep, Beside her, on the bed, Into her breast the thought would creep That he was dreaming of the dead. And all the mother’s heart in her Was mad with mother-jealousy Of that sweet scented lilac tree; And, blind with savage ecstasy, Night after night she lay, Until the blink of day, With staring eyes and wild, Half-crazy, lest the lilac tree Should come betwixt him and his child. By day, her mother-tenderness Was turned to brooding bitterness, Whene’er she looked upon the bloom: And, if she slept at all at night, Her heart would waken in affright To smell the lilac in the gloom: And, when it rained, it seemed to her, The fresh keen scent was bitterer: Though, when the blaze of morning came, And flooded all the room, The perfume burnt her heart like flame. As, in the dark, One night she lay, A dark thought shot Through her hot heart: And, from a spark Of smouldering wrong, Hate burst to fire. Now, quaking cold, Now, quivering hot, With breath indrawn, Through time untold, She ’waited dawn That lagged too long For her desire. And when, at last, at break of day, Her husband rose, and went his way About his daily toil, She, too, arose, and dressed, With frenzy in her breast; And stole downstairs, and took a spade, And digged about the lilac roots, And laid them bare of soil: Then, with a jagged blade, She hacked and slashed the naked roots-- She hacked and slashed with frantic hand, Until the lilac scarce might stand; And then again the soil she laid About the bleeding roots-- (It seemed to her, the sap ran red About the writhing roots!) But, now her heart was eased of strife, Since she had sapped the lilac’s life; And, frenzy-spent, she dropped the knife: Then, dizzily she crept to bed, And lay all day as one nigh dead.