Will ever the dear days come back again, <br />Those days of June, when lilacs were in bloom, <br />And bluebirds sang their sonnets in the gloom <br />Of leaves that roofed them in from sun or rain? <br />I know not; but a presence will remain <br />For ever and for ever in this room, <br />Formless, diffused in air, like a perfume,-- <br />A phantom of the heart, and not the brain. <br />Delicious days! when every spoken word <br />Was like a foot-fall nearer and more near <br />And a mysterious knocking at the gate <br />Of the heart's secret places, and we heard <br />In the sweet tumult of delight and fear <br />A voice that whispered, 'Open, I cannot wait!'<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-harbour-from-the-french/
