Touch not the lilac,
The lilac’s sweet blossom:
So delicate, delicate,
Ever so delicate.
Its emerald green leaves
You may touch;
So lightly, so lightly,
Ever so lightly,
Its emerald green leaves
In the morning.
You may breathe
Of its fragrance,
So delicate, delicate,
Too, in the morning,
But ever so lightly.
Touch not its blossom,
But ever so lightly
Behold them,
The mauve and the lavender,
Hyacinth blue,
Puce, periwinkle
And even the white,
But touch not its blossom.
At night, when it’s silvery,
Seek not the blossom;
Breathe only lightly,
Ever so lightly,
Of its nighttime fragrance,
But seek not its silvery,
Curly-formed blossom of night.
Seek not to know
What lies there beneath it:
There lie there in death
The most delicate creatures,
But seek not to know
What lies there beneath it,
And seek not,
And touch not
Its silvery blossoms of night
Or in morning—
Touch not its blossom.
Seek not to kiss
The white cheek of the child;
Seek not to spy
The blue vein on her temple;
Touch not the curly hair,
Golden hair, curly hair.
Behold only lightly,
Ever so lightly,
Her bulging blue eyes,
And seek not her breath,
The faint-blowing breath of the child.
Think not of winter,
And think not of death.
Touch not the lilac,
The lilac’s sweet blossom.
This poem first appeared in The Brownstone Poets Anthology (2019).
—
John J. Trause is the author of six books of poetry and one of parody, Latter-Day Litany, the latter staged Off Broadway. His translations, poetry, prose, scholarship, and visual work appear internationally in many publications, including Rabbit Ears: TV Poems (NYQ Books, 2015). He is a founder of the William Carlos Williams Poetry Cooperative (The Red Wheelbarrow) in Rutherford, N.J., and former host/curator of its monthly reading series. He is fond of cunning acrostics and color-coded chiasmus.
