When Lilacs In The Dooryard Bloomed By Walt Whitman

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 me you bring

Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west

And thought of him I love

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 dooryard

With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green

A sprig with its flower I break

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

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 uprisen

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