Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LILAC TREE, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LILAC TREE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I planted her the lilac tree
Last Line: They thought upon the dead.


"I planted her the lilac tree
Upon our wedding day:
But when the time of blossom came,
With her dead babe she lay...
And as I stood beside the bed,
The scent of lilac filled the room:
And always when I smell the bloom,
I think upon the dead."

He spoke: and, speaking, sauntered on,
The young girl by his side:
And then they talked no more of death,
But only of the happy things
That burst their buds, and spread their wings,
And break in song at Whitsuntide,
That burst to bloom at Whitsuntide,
And bring the summer in a breath.

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.

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.

That night a sudden storm awoke,
And struck the slumbering earth to life:
And as the heavens in thunder broke,
She lay exulting in the strife
Of flash and peal,
And gust and rain;
For now, she thought: the lightning-stroke
Will lay the lilac low;
And he need never know
How I ... and then, again,
Her heart went cold with dread,
As she remembered that the knife
Still lay beneath the lilac tree...
A blinding flash,
A lull, a crash,
A rattling peal...
And suddenly,
She felt her senses reel:
And, crying out: "The knife! The knife!"
Her pangs were on her...
Dawn was red,
When she awoke upon the bed
To life -- and knew her babe was dead.
She rose: and cried out fearfully:
"The lilac tree! The lilac tree!"
Then fell back in a swoon.

But, when she waked again at noon,
And looked upon her sleeping child;
And laid her hand upon its head,
No more the mother's heart was wild,
For hate and fear were dead;
And all her brooding bitterness
Broke into tears of tenderness.

And not a word the father said
About the lilac, lying dead.
A week went by, and Whitsuntide
Came round: and as she lay,
And looked upon the newborn day,
Her husband, lying by her side,
Spoke to her very tenderly:
"Wife, 'tis again our wedding day,
And we will plant a lilac tree
In memory of the babe that died."

They planted a white lilac tree
Upon their wedding day:
And, when the time of blossom came,
With kindly hearts they lay.
The sunlight streamed upon the bed:
The scent of lilac filled the room:
And, as they smelt the breathing bloom,
They thought upon the dead.





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