Daily Whitman



When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

  O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
  And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
  And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

  Sea-winds blown from east and west,
  Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till
      there on the prairies meeting,
  These and with these and the breath of my chant,
  I'll perfume the grave of him I love.

Posted on 25/02/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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