In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings,

Stands the lilac-bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love,

With every leaf a miracle... and from this bush [in the door-yard,

With delicate-color'd blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,]

A sprig, with its flower, I break.