The purple lilacs haunt me That grew around the door, And backward was the orchard, And beyond the rolling moor. The bees zoomed in the clover, That grew quite near the door, And dewdrops kissed the violas, And strawb'ries blossomed o'er. The blooms upon the thorn tree Were pink as evening's vest, And there were crab tree blossoms, (I think I liked them best). The old house is demolished, The old bricks lie around, The shade trees, too, are shattered, The door steps but a mound. Methinks I hear a footstep, Methinks a soft closed door, And the creak of an old-time rocker Upon the polished floor. |