Walt Whitman – When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d
When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring
ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west
And thought of him I love
powerful, western, fallen star!
shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
great star disappear’d! O the black murk that hides the star!
cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me!
harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul!
In the door-yard 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
In the swamp, in secluded recesses
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song
Solitary, the thrush
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements
Sings by himself a song
Song of the bleeding throat!
Death’s outlet song of life—(for well, dear brother, I know
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would’st surely die.)
Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities
Amid lanes, and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes—passing the endless grass
Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave
Night and day journeys a coffin
Coffin that passes through lanes and streets
Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags, with the cities draped in black
With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-veil’d women, standing
With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night
With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn
With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour’d around the coffin
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where amid these you journey
With the tolling, tolling bells’ perpetual clang
Here! coffin that slowly passes
I give you my sprig of lilac
(Nor for you, for one, alone
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring
For fresh as the morning—thus would I carol a song for you, O sane and sacred death
All over bouquets of roses
death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first
Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you
For you, and the coffins all of you, O death.)
western orb, sailing the heaven!
Now I know what you must have meant, as a month since we walk’d
As we walk’d up and down in the dark blue so mystic
As we walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night
As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night after night
As you droop’d from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on
As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something, I know not what, kept me from slee
As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, ere you went, how full you were of woe
As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cold transparent night
As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night
As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where you, sad orb
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone
Sing on, there in the swamp!
singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes—I hear your call
I hear—I come presently—I understand you
But a moment I linger—for the lustrous star has detain’d me
The star, my departing comrade, holds and detains me
how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love?
Sea-winds, blown from east and west
Blown from the eastern sea, and blown from the western sea, till there on the prairies meeting
These, and with these, and the breath of my chant
I perfume the grave of him I love
what shall I hang on the chamber walls?
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls
To adorn the burial-house of him I love?
Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows
And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys
And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning
Lo! body and soul! this land!
Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships
The varied and ample land—the South and the North in the light—Ohio’s shores, and flashing Missouri
And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover’d with grass and corn
Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty
The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes
The gentle, soft-born, measureless light
The miracle, spreading, bathing all—the fulfill’d noon
The coming eve, delicious—the welcome night, and the stars
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land
Sing on! sing on, you gray-brown bird!
Sing from the swamps, the recesses—pour your chant from the bushes
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines
Sing on, dearest brother—warble your reedy song
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe
liquid, and free, and tender!
wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!
You only I hear......yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart
Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me
Now while I sat in the day, and look’d forth
In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the farmer preparing his crops
In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its lakes and forests
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds, and the storms
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women
The many-moving sea-tides,—and I saw the ships how they sail’d
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages
And the streets, how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo! then and there
Falling upon them all, and among them all, enveloping me with the rest
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail
And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death
Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me
And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness
To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still
And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv’d us comrades three
And he sang what seem’d the carol of death, and a verse for him I love
From deep secluded recesses
From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still
Came the carol of the bird
And the charm of the carol rapt me
As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring
ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west
And thought of him I love
powerful, western, fallen star!
shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
great star disappear’d! O the black murk that hides the star!
cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me!
harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul!
In the door-yard 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
In the swamp, in secluded recesses
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song
Solitary, the thrush
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements
Sings by himself a song
Song of the bleeding throat!
Death’s outlet song of life—(for well, dear brother, I know
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would’st surely die.)
Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities
Amid lanes, and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes—passing the endless grass
Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave
Night and day journeys a coffin
Coffin that passes through lanes and streets
Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags, with the cities draped in black
With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-veil’d women, standing
With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night
With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn
With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour’d around the coffin
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where amid these you journey
With the tolling, tolling bells’ perpetual clang
Here! coffin that slowly passes
I give you my sprig of lilac
(Nor for you, for one, alone
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring
For fresh as the morning—thus would I carol a song for you, O sane and sacred death
All over bouquets of roses
death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first
Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you
For you, and the coffins all of you, O death.)
western orb, sailing the heaven!
Now I know what you must have meant, as a month since we walk’d
As we walk’d up and down in the dark blue so mystic
As we walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night
As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night after night
As you droop’d from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on
As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something, I know not what, kept me from slee
As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, ere you went, how full you were of woe
As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cold transparent night
As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night
As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where you, sad orb
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone
Sing on, there in the swamp!
singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes—I hear your call
I hear—I come presently—I understand you
But a moment I linger—for the lustrous star has detain’d me
The star, my departing comrade, holds and detains me
how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love?
Sea-winds, blown from east and west
Blown from the eastern sea, and blown from the western sea, till there on the prairies meeting
These, and with these, and the breath of my chant
I perfume the grave of him I love
what shall I hang on the chamber walls?
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls
To adorn the burial-house of him I love?
Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows
And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys
And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning
Lo! body and soul! this land!
Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships
The varied and ample land—the South and the North in the light—Ohio’s shores, and flashing Missouri
And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover’d with grass and corn
Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty
The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes
The gentle, soft-born, measureless light
The miracle, spreading, bathing all—the fulfill’d noon
The coming eve, delicious—the welcome night, and the stars
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land
Sing on! sing on, you gray-brown bird!
Sing from the swamps, the recesses—pour your chant from the bushes
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines
Sing on, dearest brother—warble your reedy song
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe
liquid, and free, and tender!
wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!
You only I hear......yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart
Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me
Now while I sat in the day, and look’d forth
In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the farmer preparing his crops
In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its lakes and forests
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds, and the storms
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women
The many-moving sea-tides,—and I saw the ships how they sail’d
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages
And the streets, how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo! then and there
Falling upon them all, and among them all, enveloping me with the rest
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail
And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death
Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me
And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness
To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still
And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv’d us comrades three
And he sang what seem’d the carol of death, and a verse for him I love
From deep secluded recesses
From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still
Came the carol of the bird
And the charm of the carol rapt me
As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird
