The flowers, the haunted flowers of May,
They bring delight, they bring heartache;
What wondrous things to me they say!
So bright--so dim, so sad--so gay,
No stem of theirs I dare to break--
The flowers--the haunted flowers of May!
When lip to lip they softly lay--
As soft, as still, as flake on flake,
What wondrous things to me they say!
For lo! there comes with them to play,
A child, whose feet no imprint make--
The flowers--the haunted flowers of May!
From Childhood's Land they take their way,
They bloom but for that flower-child's sake--
What wondrous things to me they say!
With them it lives, their little day;
With them, each new-born year, 'twill wake;
The flowers--the haunted flowers of May,
What wondrous things to me they say!