Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women. To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still. O great star disappear’d! praise! And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black. Sing on there in the swamp, O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, I hear, I … With the lustrous and drooping star, with the countenance full of woe. O harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul! In the day, in the night, to all, to each. The gray-brown bird I know receiv’d us comrades three. And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone? And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone? From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee—adornments and feastings for thee; And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread sky, are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this for his dear sake. O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night. 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;). O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. Come, lovely and soothing Death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate Death. From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still. Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes. praise! 19, Passing the visions, passing the night; Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands; Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying song of my soul, (Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying, ever-altering song, As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy, Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven, As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,) Passing, I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves; I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring,I cease from my song for thee; From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night. When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d Walt Whitman 1 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. To the tally of my soul, Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the 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 sleep,). 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. Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee. And I with my comrades there in the night. O moody, tearful night! In Leaves of Grass (1855, 1891-2), he celebrated democracy, nature, love, and friendship. Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave. But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not. Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love. There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim. For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death. Whitman’s title, ‘When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d’, refers to the moment he learned that President Abraham Lincoln had died, in April 1865. And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me. Over the tree-tops I float thee a song!Over the rising and sinking waves—over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide; Over the dense-pack’d cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death! As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night. 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. When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d. O wondrous singer! With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night. 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! 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. In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash’d palings. Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. As an elegy on the death of Abraham Lincoln, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" may be placed in contexts both historical and literary. O wondrous singer! And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls. When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d. As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night. While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed. But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain’d me. Last Updated on May 5, 2015, by eNotes Editorial. The star my departing comrade holds and detains me. With the lilac tall, and its blossoms of mastering odor; With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird. Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen. Solitary, the thrush,The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. The many-moving sea-tides,—and I saw the ships how they sail’d. These and with these and the breath of my chant. 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