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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535237" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">from Memories of President Lincoln</div><div style="margin:10px 0">1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, <br>And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, <br>I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, <br>Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, <br>And thought of him I love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O powerful western fallen star! <br>O shades of night -- O moody, tearful night! <br>O great star disappear'd -- O the black murk that hides the star! <br>O cruel hands that hold me powerless -- O helpless soul of me! <br>O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings, <br>Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, <br>With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, <br>With every leaf a miracle -- and from this bush in the dooryard, <br>With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, <br>A sprig with its flower I break.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">4</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the swamp in secluded recesses, <br>A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. <br>Solitary the thrush, <br>The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, <br>Sings by himself a song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Song of the bleeding throat, <br>Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, <br>If thou wast not granted to sing, thou would'st surely die.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">5</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, <br>Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray debris, <br>Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass, <br>Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen, <br>Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards, <br>Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, <br>Night and day journeys a coffin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">6</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, <br>Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, <br>With the pomp of the inloop'd flags with the cities draped in black, <br>With the show of the States themselves as of crepe-veil'd women standing, <br>With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, <br>With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads, <br>With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces, <br>With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn, <br>With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd around the coffin, <br>The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs -- where amid these you journey, <br>With the tolling bells' perpetual clang, <br>Here, coffin that slowly passes, <br>I give you a sprig of lilac.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">7</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Nor for you, for one alone, <br>Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, <br>For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All over bouquets of roses, <br>O death, I cover you with roses and early lilies, <br>But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first, <br>Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes, <br>With loaded arms I come, pouring for you, <br>For you and the coffins all of you, O death.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">8</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O western orb sailing the heaven, <br>Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk'd, <br>As I walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night, <br>As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night, <br>As you droop'd from the sky low down as if to my side, (while the other stars all look'd on,) <br>As we wander'd together the solemn night, (for something I know not what kept me from sleep,) <br>As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe, <br>As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night, <br>As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the netherward black of the night, <br>As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb, <br>Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">9</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sing on there in the swamp, <br>O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, <br>I hear, I come presently, I understand you, <br>But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me, <br>The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">10</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved? <br>And how shall I deck my soul for the large sweet soul that has gone? <br>And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sea-winds blown from the east and west, <br>Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting, <br>These and with these and the breath of my chant, <br>I'll perfume the grave of him I love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">11</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O what shall I hang on the chamber walls? <br>And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls, <br>To adorn the burial-house of him I love?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes, <br>With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright, <br>With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air, <br>With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific, <br>In the distance of the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there, <br>With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows, <br>And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys, <br>And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">12</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo, body and soul -- this land, <br>My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships, <br>The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light, Ohio's shores and flashing Missouri, <br>And ever the far-spreading prairies cover'd with grass and corn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty, <br>The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes, <br>The gentle soft-born measureless light, <br>The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill'd noon, <br>The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars, <br>Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">13</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sing on, sing on, you gray-brown bird, <br>Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes, <br>Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song, <br>Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O liquid and free and tender! <br>O wild and loose to my soul -- O wondrous singer! <br>You only I hear -- yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,) <br>Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">14</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now while I sat in the day and look'd forth, <br>In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing their crops, <br>In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests, <br>In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds and storms,) <br>Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women, <br>The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail'd, <br>And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor, <br>And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages, <br>And the streets how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent -- lo, then and there, <br>Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest, <br>Appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail, <br>And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me, <br>And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me, <br>And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions, <br>I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not, <br>Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, <br>To the solemn shadowy cedars and the ghostly pines so still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me, <br>The gray-brown bird I know received us comrades three, <br>And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">>From deep secluded recesses, <br>>From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, <br>Came the carol of the bird.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the charm of the carol rapt me, <br>As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, <br>And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come lovely and soothing death, <br>Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, <br>In the day, in the night, to all, to each, <br>Sooner or later delicate death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Prais'd be the fathomless universe, <br>For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, <br>And for love, sweet love -- but praise! praise! praise! <br>For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, <br>Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? <br>Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, <br>I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Approach strong deliveress, <br>When it is so, when you have taken them I joyously sing the dead, <br>Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, <br>Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From me to thee glad serenades, <br>Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, <br>And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting, <br>And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night in silence under many a star, <br>The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, <br>And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil'd death, <br>And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over the treetops I float thee a song, <br>Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide, <br>Over the dense-packed cities and all the teeming wharves and ways, <br>I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">15</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the tally of my soul, <br>Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, <br>With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Loud in the pines and cedars dim, <br>Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, <br>And I with my comrades there in the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, <br>As to long panoramas of visions.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I saw askant the armies, <br>I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags, <br>Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierced with missiles I saw them, <br>And carried hither and yon through the smoke and torn and bloody, <br>And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (all in silence,) <br>And the staffs all splinter'd and broken.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, <br>And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them, <br>I saw the debris and debris of all the dead soldiers of the war, <br>But I saw they were not as was thought, <br>They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer'd not, <br>The living remain'd and suffer'd, the mother suffer'd, <br>And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer'd, <br>And the armies that remain'd suffer'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">16</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Passing the visions, passing the night, <br>Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands, <br>Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul, <br>Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song, <br>As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night, <br>Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy, <br>Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven, <br>As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses, <br>Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, <br>I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I cease from my song for thee, <br>From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, <br>O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, <br>The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, <br>And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul, <br>With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe, <br>With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird, <br>Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep for the dead I loved so well, <br>For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands -- and this for his dear sake, <br>Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul, <br>There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Walt+Whitman">Walt Whitman</a><div class=q>
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When lilacs last in the dooryard 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..."></div>
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