There is no more emblematic flower to me than the Lilac ; it has an association of old homes, of home-making and home interests.
On the country farm, in the village garden, and in the city yard, the lilac was planted wherever the home was made, and it attached itself with deepest roots, lingering some-times most sadly but sturdily, to show where the home once stood.
Lilacs are tough, willing to multiply, uncomplaining through snow and ice, and, best, they equal spring.
In Victorian poetry, spring itself was known as Lilac Tide.
" How fair it stood, with purple tassels hung,
Their hue more tender than the tint of Tyre ;
How musical amid their fragrance rung
The bee's bassoon, keynote of spring's glad choir !
O languorous Lilac ! still in time's despite
I see thy plumy branches all alight
With new-born butterflies which loved to stay
And bask and banquet in the temperate ray
Of springtime, ere the torrid heats should be :
For these dear memories, though the world grow gray,
I sing thy sweetness, lovely Lilac tree ! "
~ Elizabeth Akers