Daily Whitman

IMG_2242

 

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

  11
  O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?
  And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,
  To adorn the burial-house of him I love?
  Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes,
  With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,
  With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking
      sun, burning, expanding the air,
  With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves
      of the trees prolific,
  In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a
      wind-dapple here and there,
  With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky,
      and shadows,
  And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,
  And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen
      homeward returning.

Posted on 26/02/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: