If Flowers Had Ghosts
If flowers had ghosts, that thin perfume
Of buds long picked should haunt your room —
Your room that dreams in ancient way,
Where beaux have knelt with Spring's bouquet
For belles in silk of Jacquard's loom:
When wintry fields are bare of bloom
They'd come a-tremble from the tomb;
You'd love them when the skies were grey,
If flowers had ghosts!
So now, when April fires the broom
And cowslips clamber up the coomb,
You would not — this I greatly pray —
Forget the friends of yesterday,
Who spoke of her in days of gloom,
If flowers had ghosts?