Classic Poem

A handful of slender jonquils
With candid and innocent eyes—
And then, from the mists of my boyhood,
I feel it arise. . .

An evening of words and evasions,
And fingers that grope to explain;
Long looks and a longer silence,
And the hush of the rain.

Too holy for tears or for laughter,
Till—staring at us with surprise—
The wide-mouthed, incredulous jonquils,
With innocent eyes.