On the dear ground where first we met;

I sought her up and down the way,

And all in vain I seek her yet.

Syringa, naught your odor tells,

Or whispers so I cannot hear;

Speak out, and tell me where she dwells,

In perfume accents, loud and clear.

Shake out the music of your speech,

In quavers of delicious breath;

The conscious melody may teach

A lover where love wandereth.

If so you speak, with smile and look,

You will not wither, but endure;

And in my heart's still open book,

Keep your white petals ever pure.

If so you speak, upon her breast

You yet may rest, nor sigh afar;

But in the moonlight's silver dressed,

Seem 'gainst your heaven the evening star.

 [Pg 5] III. ODYLE.

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