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....
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.
O liquid and free and tender!
O 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....
Walt Whitman
2 comments:
Ours is blooming as well. Every time we pass by it, the scent reminds us of Jerry's grandmother and of my great-grandmother, both of whom had bushes near their homes.
Lynne, they remind me of my childhood home: there was a line of lilacs across the back fence in our neighbor’s yard. And that overpowering smell will always be the most sure herald of summer not being too far away!
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