from WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D Walt Whitman p. 1867 ===================================================== . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 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 Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song.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.) (4.1-8) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Sing on there in the swamp! O 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. (9.1-5) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 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. (13.1-9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 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 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. _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._ _Prais'd_be_the_fathomless_universe,_ _For_life_and_joy,_and_for_objects_and_knowledge_curious,_ _And_for_love,_sweet_love--but_praise!_praise!_praise!_ _For_the_sure-enwinding_arms_of_cool-enfolding_death._ _Dark_Mother_always_gliding_near_with_soft_feet,_ _Have_none_chanted_for_thee_a_chant_of_fullest_welcome?_ _Then_I_chant_it_for_thee--I_glorify_thee_above_all,_ _I_bring_thee_a_song_that_when_thou_must_indeed_come,_come_ _unfalteringly._ _Approach,_strong_deliveress!_ _When_it_is_so,_when_thou_hast_taken_them_I_joyously_sing_the_dead,_ _Lost_in_the_loving_floating_ocean_of_thee,_ _Laved_in_the_flood_of_thy_bliss_O_death._ _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._ _The_night_in_silence_under_many_a_star,_ _The_ocean_shore_and_the_husky_whispering_wave_whose_voice_I_know,_ _And_the_soul_turning_to_thee_O_vast_and_well-veil'd_death,_ _And_the_body_gratefully_nestling_close_to_thee._ _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!_ (14.13-55) 15 To the tally of my soul, Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, With pure deliberate notes, spreading filling the night. Loud in the pines and cedars dim, Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, And I with my comrades there in the night. While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions. I saw askant the armies, And I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags, Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc'd with missiles I saw them, And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody, And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,) And the staffs all splinter'd and broken. I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them, I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war, But I saw they were not as was thought, They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer'd not, The living remain'd and suffer'd, the mother suffer'd, And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer'd, And the armies that remain'd suffer'd. (15.1-22) 16 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 dooryard, 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. Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul, With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe, With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird, Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well, For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands--and this for his dear sake, Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul, There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim. (16.1-22) ======== ========