By Margaret E. Sangster

I had not meant to love again—all that was lost to me,
For I had felt love’s fear and pain, as well as ecstasy;
I closed my heart, and locked the door, and tossed away the key.

All through the winter-time I sat before my flaming fire,
And listened to the sleigh-bells chime, and watched the flames leap higher,
To grasp at shadows, sombre-hued, with fiendish, red desire.

And then mad April came again—I felt the breezes blowing,
And I forgot the fear, the pain…. I only knew that, glowing,
In shady nook and garden spot, pale hyacinths were growing.

And when across the perfumed lea (for nothing could defeat him!)
My vagrant love crept back to me… I did not mean to greet him;
But April opened up my heart, and, oh, I ran to meet him!

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