When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d Summary & Analysis

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The Full Text of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”

1

1When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,

2And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,

3I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

4Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,

5Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,

6And thought of him I love.

2

7O powerful western fallen star!

8O shades of night—O moody, tearful night!

9O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!

10O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!

11O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

3

12In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings,

13Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

14With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,

15With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard,

16With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

17A sprig with its flower I break.

4

18In the swamp in secluded recesses,

19A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

20Solitary the thrush,

21The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,

22Sings by himself a song.

23Song of the bleeding throat,

24Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,

25If thou wast not granted to sing thou would’st surely die.)

5

26Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,

27Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris,

28Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,

29Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,

30Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,

31Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,

32Night and day journeys a coffin.

6

33Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,

34Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,

35With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black,

36With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing,

37With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,

38With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,

39With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,

40With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,

41With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin,

42The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey,

43With the tolling tolling bells’ perpetual clang,

44Here, coffin that slowly passes,

45I give you my sprig of lilac.

7

46(Nor for you, for one alone,

47Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring,

48For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.

49All over bouquets of roses,

50O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,

51But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,

52Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,

53With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,

54For you and the coffins all of you O death.)

8

55O western orb sailing the heaven,

56Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk’d,

57As I walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night,

58As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night,

59As you droop’d from the sky low down as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on,)

60As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something I know not what kept me from sleep,)

61As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe,

62As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night,

63As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night,

64As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb,

65Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.

9

66Sing on there in the swamp,

67O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call,

68I hear, I come presently, I understand you,

69But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain’d me,

70The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.

10

71O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?

72And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?

73And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

74Sea-winds blown from east and west,

75Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting,

76These and with these and the breath of my chant,

77I’ll perfume the grave of him I love.

11

78O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?

79And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,

80To adorn the burial-house of him I love?

81Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes,

82With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,

83With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air,

84With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific,

85In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there,

86With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows,

87And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,

88And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.

12

89Lo, body and soul—this land,

90My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships,

91The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light, Ohio’s shores and flashing Missouri,

92And ever the far-spreading prairies cover’d with grass and corn.

93Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty,

94The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes,

95The gentle soft-born measureless light,

96The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill’d noon,

97The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars,

98Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.

13

99Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,

100Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes,

101Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

102Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,

103Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.

104O liquid and free and tender!

105O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!

106You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)

107Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.

14

108Now while I sat in the day and look’d forth,

109In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing their crops,

110In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,

111In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,)

112Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,

113The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d,

114And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,

115And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages,

116And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo, then and there,

117Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,

118Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail,

119And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.

120Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,

121And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,

122And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,

123I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,

124Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,

125To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still.

126And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me,

127The gray-brown bird I know receiv’d us comrades three,

128And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.

129From deep secluded recesses,

130From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,

131Came the carol of the bird.

132And the charm of the carol rapt me,

133As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night,

134And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

135Come lovely and soothing death,

136Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,

137In the day, in the night, to all, to each,

138Sooner or later delicate death.

139Prais’d be the fathomless universe,

140For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,

141And for love, sweet love—but praise! praise! praise!

142For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.

143Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet,

144Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?

145Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all,

146I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

147Approach strong deliveress,

148When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead,

149Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,

150Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death.

151From me to thee glad serenades,

152Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee,

153And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting,

154And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.

155The night in silence under many a star,

156The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know,

157And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil’d death,

158And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

159Over the tree-tops I float thee a song,

160Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide,

161Over the dense-pack’d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,

162I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.

15

163To the tally of my soul,

164Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,

165With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.

166Loud in the pines and cedars dim,

167Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume,

168And I with my comrades there in the night.

169While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed,

170As to long panoramas of visions.

171And I saw askant the armies,

172I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags,

173Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc’d with missiles I saw them,

174And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody,

175And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)

176And the staffs all splinter’d and broken.

177I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,

178And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them,

179I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war,

180But I saw they were not as was thought,

181They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not,

182The living remain’d and suffer’d, the mother suffer’d,

183And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer’d,

184And the armies that remain’d suffer’d.

16

185Passing the visions, passing the night,

186Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands,

187Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul,

188Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song,

189As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,

190Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,

191Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,

192As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,

193Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,

194I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring.

195I cease from my song for thee,

196From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,

197O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.

198Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,

199The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,

200And the tallying chant, the echo arous’d in my soul,

201With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,

202With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,

203Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well,

204For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this for his dear sake,

205Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,

206There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.

The Full Text of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”

1

1When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,

2And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,

3I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

4Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,

5Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,

6And thought of him I love.

2

7O powerful western fallen star!

8O shades of night—O moody, tearful night!

9O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!

10O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!

11O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

3

12In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings,

13Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

14With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,

15With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard,

16With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

17A sprig with its flower I break.

4

18In the swamp in secluded recesses,

19A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

20Solitary the thrush,

21The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,

22Sings by himself a song.

23Song of the bleeding throat,

24Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,

25If thou wast not granted to sing thou would’st surely die.)

5

26Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,

27Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris,

28Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,

29Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,

30Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,

31Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,

32Night and day journeys a coffin.

6

33Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,

34Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,

35With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black,

36With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing,

37With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,

38With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,

39With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,

40With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,

41With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin,

42The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey,

43With the tolling tolling bells’ perpetual clang,

44Here, coffin that slowly passes,

45I give you my sprig of lilac.

7

46(Nor for you, for one alone,

47Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring,

48For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.

49All over bouquets of roses,

50O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,

51But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,

52Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,

53With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,

54For you and the coffins all of you O death.)

8

55O western orb sailing the heaven,

56Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk’d,

57As I walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night,

58As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night,

59As you droop’d from the sky low down as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on,)

60As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something I know not what kept me from sleep,)

61As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe,

62As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night,

63As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night,

64As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb,

65Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.

9

66Sing on there in the swamp,

67O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call,

68I hear, I come presently, I understand you,

69But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain’d me,

70The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.

10

71O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?

72And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?

73And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

74Sea-winds blown from east and west,

75Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting,

76These and with these and the breath of my chant,

77I’ll perfume the grave of him I love.

11

78O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?

79And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,

80To adorn the burial-house of him I love?

81Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes,

82With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,

83With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air,

84With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific,

85In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there,

86With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows,

87And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,

88And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.

12

89Lo, body and soul—this land,

90My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships,

91The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light, Ohio’s shores and flashing Missouri,

92And ever the far-spreading prairies cover’d with grass and corn.

93Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty,

94The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes,

95The gentle soft-born measureless light,

96The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill’d noon,

97The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars,

98Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.

13

99Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,

100Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes,

101Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

102Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,

103Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.

104O liquid and free and tender!

105O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!

106You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)

107Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.

14

108Now while I sat in the day and look’d forth,

109In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing their crops,

110In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,

111In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,)

112Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,

113The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d,

114And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,

115And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages,

116And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo, then and there,

117Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,

118Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail,

119And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.

120Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,

121And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,

122And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,

123I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,

124Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,

125To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still.

126And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me,

127The gray-brown bird I know receiv’d us comrades three,

128And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.

129From deep secluded recesses,

130From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,

131Came the carol of the bird.

132And the charm of the carol rapt me,

133As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night,

134And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

135Come lovely and soothing death,

136Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,

137In the day, in the night, to all, to each,

138Sooner or later delicate death.

139Prais’d be the fathomless universe,

140For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,

141And for love, sweet love—but praise! praise! praise!

142For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.

143Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet,

144Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?

145Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all,

146I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

147Approach strong deliveress,

148When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead,

149Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,

150Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death.

151From me to thee glad serenades,

152Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee,

153And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting,

154And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.

155The night in silence under many a star,

156The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know,

157And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil’d death,

158And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

159Over the tree-tops I float thee a song,

160Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide,

161Over the dense-pack’d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,

162I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.

15

163To the tally of my soul,

164Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,

165With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.

166Loud in the pines and cedars dim,

167Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume,

168And I with my comrades there in the night.

169While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed,

170As to long panoramas of visions.

171And I saw askant the armies,

172I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags,

173Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc’d with missiles I saw them,

174And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody,

175And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)

176And the staffs all splinter’d and broken.

177I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,

178And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them,

179I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war,

180But I saw they were not as was thought,

181They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not,

182The living remain’d and suffer’d, the mother suffer’d,

183And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer’d,

184And the armies that remain’d suffer’d.

16

185Passing the visions, passing the night,

186Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands,

187Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul,

188Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song,

189As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,

190Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,

191Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,

192As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,

193Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,

194I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring.

195I cease from my song for thee,

196From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,

197O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.

198Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,

199The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,

200And the tallying chant, the echo arous’d in my soul,

201With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,

202With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,

203Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well,

204For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this for his dear sake,

205Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,

206There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.

  • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Introduction

    • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” was written by the American poet Walt Whitman. Composed in the wake of President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, the poem takes the form of a pastoral elegy, mourning Lincoln’s death while praising the beauty of springtime and the natural world. The speaker comes to accept death as part of life and suggests that, just as spring follows winter, the American people will flourish again after this period of grief. Whitman included the poem in his 1865 collection Drum-Taps, a sequence of poems based on his experiences working as a nurse during the American Civil War.

  • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Summary

    • 1

      The last time the lilacs bloomed in the front yard, and the powerful western star set too early, I grieved. And I will grieve again each time spring returns.

      Spring, you always return, and you will always bring me these three things: the lilac that blooms each year, the falling star, and thoughts and memories of the man I love.

      2

      Oh, powerful western star that fell out of the sky! Oh, shadows of the night—Oh, temperamental, weeping night! Oh, bright star that vanished from the sky—Oh, the darkness that covers up this star! Oh, brutal hands that hold me back from being able to do anything—Oh, my helpless soul! Oh, the cruel haze that surrounds everything and won’t let my soul go.

      3

      In the front yard of an old farmhouse, near the white fence, a lilac bush stands. It grows tall and its leaves are shaped like hearts made of a deep green color. It has many cone-shaped blossoms rising delicately into the air. The flowers have a strong scent that I love. Every leaf of this lilac bush is miraculous—and from this lilac bush in the front yard, with its ornately colored flowers and its deep green leaves shaped like hearts, I break off a small branch and its flower.

      4

      In the quiet, sheltered area of a swamp, a shy bird perches out of sight and sings a song.

      The bird is alone like a deeply religious person who has withdrawn from society to live only by himself, constantly avoiding people. Alone, he sings a song.

      This song sounds like it comes from a wounded throat—it is a song in which death finds a kind of release (for I know, dear bird, that if you couldn’t sing you would die).

      5

      Across the landscape of spring, through the country, through cities, through small streets and old forests (where new violets have recently emerged from the ground to look upon the gray remains of winter), through the fields of grass growing on either side of the streets, past these endless fields, past the wheat that grows like yellow spears and the grains that have sprouted from their husks, past the white and pink apple blossoms in the orchards—through all of this, a dead body is carried to its grave, a coffin traveling night and day.

      6

      This coffin travels through paths and streets, through day and night as a huge cloud casts a shadow on the land. It travels with cermonious American flags tucked into themselves while the cities remain covered in black to express mourning. The states it passes through are dressed for grief like women standing in black veils. The coffin travels with long, winding lines of mourners and flaming torches in the night. It travels by the light of all of those innumerable torches, the crowd of mourners watching like a quiet ocean of faces and covered heads. Mourners wait at train stations to greet the coffin as it arrives, their faces gloomy as they look at it. It travels with songs of mourning playing through the night, a thousand voices singing powerfully and somberly. It travels with all of the grieving voices of the sorrowful songs—songs that pour like water over the coffin and into half-lit churches that shake with the mighty sound of trembling pipe organs. You travel through all of this with the ongoing clang of ringing bells. Here, coffin that slowly passes me, I give you my small branch from the lilac bush.

      7

      (And it’s not just for you that I bring this sprig of lilac. I offer flowers and green branches to all coffins. I would sing a song as new and crisp as morning air for you, death, since you are so healthy and holy.

      There are bunches of roses everywhere; death, I would cover you completely with these roses and with recently blossomed lilies, but most of all with lilac, which is the first flower to bloom in spring. I break off multiple branches from the lilac bushes, and with my arms full of these flowers I come to you, pouring them out for you and for all of the coffins that you, death, have created.)

      8

      Oh, star in the West moving through the sky, now I understand what you must have meant a month ago, when I walked quietly through the clear dark night and saw that you wanted to tell me something. You seemed to bend toward me from the sky each night, and you dropped from the sky almost to be by my side (while all the other stars watched). We walked together through the somber night because for some reason I couldn’t sleep. As the night got later, I saw you on the western horizon and thought you looked like you were full of sorrow. I stood there on the high ground while a light wind blew through the cool, clear night, and I watched the place you had crossed in the sky; I felt lost in the black depths of the night. When you, sad star, disappeared and dropped into the night, my soul sank into trouble and unease.

      9

      Bird singing in the swamp, keep singing. Oh, you shy, gentle singer, I hear the notes of your song. I hear you and am coming to you. I understand you, but I'm staying here a moment longer because this beautiful star has held me back; it is the star of my departing friend that keeps me from coming.

      10

      Oh, how will I sing my own song for the one who has died, the one I loved? How will I prepare and decorate my song for the huge, sweet soul that has left? And what kind of scent will I bring to the grave of the one who died, the person I love?

      Winds blow off the sea from the east and west, blowing from the eastern ocean and the western ocean and meeting in prairies in the middle of the country. Here, in the middle of the country, I will bring to his grave the scent of these ocean winds and the breath of my own song.

      11

      Oh, what will I hang up on the walls of his burial chamber? And what pictures can I put up on these walls to decorate his tomb?

      I’ll bring pictures of the new growth in springtime and pictures of farms and houses bathed in an April sunset, clear gray smoke rising from the houses. These pictures will show the gold color pouring from the beautiful, lazy, dropping sun, which is burning and makes the air itself grow larger. These pictures will show the new sweet grass that we walk on and the new spring leaves of the plentiful trees. In the background, the pictures will show the shining surface of a running river, touched in places by the wind. The pictures will show the many hills on the banks of the river—hills that create silhouettes against the sky and other kinds of shadows. The pictures will also show the nearby city, which is densely populated, and the brick stacks of chimneys. The pictures will show the life in these cities, showing factories and workshops and men coming home from work.

      12

      Look at this land, which has a body and a soul: Manhattan, where I’m from, with the tall points of its buildings, and the shining, quick-moving ocean tides and ships. Look at the diverse and plentiful land, the southern and northern United States in the sunlight, the shores of the Ohio River and the glistening Missouri River. And look at the expansive prairies which are covered with grass and corn.

      Look at the admirable, brilliant sun, which is peaceful and proud. Look at the morning with its different shades of purple in the sky and its barely detectable breezes. Look at the tender and infinite light. Look at how the sun seems like a miracle when it rises, its light covering and washing over everything. Look at the satisfied middle of the day and the delightful feeling of the evening's approach. Look at the long-awaited night and its stars, which shine over all of my cities, blanketing both the people and the land.

      13

      Keep singing, you grayish-brown bird. Sing from the wetlands and all the hidden places. Pour out your song from the undergrowth. Sing this expansive song in the evening by letting it cry out from the cedar and pine trees.

      Keep singing, beloved brother, trill your high song. Your song is loud and human. Keep singing it with your deeply sad voice.

      Oh, your song is flowing and gentle! Oh, your song is uninhibited and frees my soul—Oh, amazing singer! I only hear you, but the star holds me back (though soon he, the star, will leave). Still, the powerful scent of the lilac holds me back.

      14

      I sat in the daytime and looked around. It was the end of the day, so the sunset bathed the fields bursting with spring, lighting the farmers as they planted their crops. I saw the huge landscape of my country with its lakes and woods. There was a sacred beauty in the air after the disturbance of stormy weather. I sat beneath the curved sky, where a bird flew past in the afternoon, and I heard the sound of children and women talking. There were also the shifting ocean tides, and I could see boats sailing on the water. I felt the rich feeling of summer getting closer, and farmers busy working in the fields, and the countless distinct houses, all of them going on in their own way—in each house there were meals and small daily activities. I saw the pulsing movement in the streets and the pent-up cities. While I sat looking out like this, I saw a cloud that covered everything. This cloud appeared like a long black path, and I suddenly felt like I knew death—the thought of it felt familiar and holy.

      Then it was as if death itself walked beside me while my own thoughts about death walked on the other side. I walked in the middle of them as though walking with friends and holding their hands. But then I escaped into the safety of the silent night. I went to the banks of the swamp and traveled along its dim path. I escaped amongst the somber cedar trees and the pines, which stood so still they seemed like ghosts.

      And the singing bird who is so shy to everyone else welcomed me there. This grayish-brown bird welcomed us three friends: me, the knowledge of death itself, and my own thoughts about death. And the bird sang a song of death that included a verse for the one I love who died.

      This bird’s song came out of the hidden, sheltered depths of the swamp, emerging from the scent of the cedar trees and the ghost-like pine trees.

      The song cast a kind of spell over me as I stood there with my friends—the knowledge of death and the thought of death—as though I was holding their hands in the night. My soul’s voice sang the same song as the bird:

      Come to us, beautiful and calming death. Ripple around the world, peacefully reaching everyone at any time of day or night; gentle death, you'll come to everyone sooner or later.

      Let us praise the infinite universe for the gifts of life and happiness; let us praise the universe for all its interesting objects and strange pieces of knowledge. Let us praise it for the existence of sweet love—but above all, let us praise and praise and praise the cool embrace of death, which will surely fold us in its arms.

      Death, you are like a shadowy mother who always approaches with quiet footsteps. Has nobody sung a song to welcome you? If not, then I sing it for you. I praise you above everything else. I bring you a song, saying that when you inevitably approach, you should approach without hesitation.

      Come closer, powerful death, and deliver us from life. When you finally take people away, I will sing joyfully for them. I will sing for those who have disappeared into your ocean of love; I will sing for those who have been bathed in your heavenly flood.

      I offer you happy songs of praise. I think there should be dances for you, along with decorations and festivals. The sights of open land and the expansive sky are appropriate gifts for you. Life itself, large fields, and the enormous, thoughtful night are also appropriate gifts for you.

      The night is silent beneath the stars. The beach and the sound of the waves are like the raspy whisper of a voice I've heard many times. My soul turns to face you, oh infinite and well-hidden death, and my body thankfully burrows closer to you.

      I send a song over the treetops to you. It travels over the waves, over the many fields, and over vast prairies. It travels over all the densely populated cities and the crowded waterfronts and streets. Over all of this I send this joyous song to you, death.

      15

      Keeping up with the song of my own soul, the grayish-brown bird kept singing its own song loudly and strongly. It sang with clean, intentional notes spreading out and filling the entire night.

      The song was loud in the dark pine trees and the cedars. It rang clearly through the fresh dampness of the swamp, cutting through the swamp's scent. I stood there with my friends—the knowledge of death and the thought of death—in the night.

      My vision was no longer limited to what my eyes could see—instead, I saw huge, sweeping visions.

      I caught a glimpse of armies at war. As though I was having a dream without sound, I saw hundreds of flags raised in the battle—flags that were carried through smoky battlefields and sliced by sharp projectiles. The flags were carried back and forth through the smoke until they were ripped and bloody. Finally, only a few shreds of the flags remained on the flagpoles and everything was silent. The flagpoles themselves had broken to pieces.

      I saw the bodies of people who died in battle, huge numbers of them. I saw the white bones of young men who had died. I saw the remains of all of the soldiers who had been killed in the war. But I realized that they weren’t the way I thought they were; they had finally come to a peaceful rest, and they didn’t suffer anymore. But those who were still alive continued to suffer, as did the mothers of the deceased. And the wives and children and bewildered friends of the dead suffered. What remained of the armies suffered, too.

      16

      Moving through these visions of war in the night, I let go of my friends’ hands. I pass through the reclusive bird’s song and the song of my own soul—a triumphant song in which death finds a kind of release. But this song is always changing. It is a low cry, but it also has a clear melody that rises and falls and pours into the night. The song falls away in sadness like a warning of some kind, but then bursts out in happiness. It spreads over the entire earth and fills the sky like the powerful song I heard coming from the swamp at the night. I leave you, lilac bush with leaves shaped like hearts. I leave you there in the front yard; I leave you there in bloom, only to return in the spring.

      I stop singing my song for you. I stop looking for you in the West. I stop facing the west. I stop gathering you close, oh my bright friend whose face is silver in the night.

      But everyone will hold onto the song that emerged in the night. Everyone will remember the amazing song of the grayish-brown bird, which inspired my own soul to sing along with the bright star that went down with its face full of sorrow. And my soul sang along as death held my hand on either side and we approached the singing bird—the knowledge of death and the thought of death were my comrades, and I stood between them, and this memory will sustain my love of the man who died and whom I loved so much. He was the smartest and kindest person in my life. This is for him: the lilac and the star and the bird have united with the song of my soul, surrounded by the scent of the pine trees and the dark cedars.

  • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Themes

    • Theme American Resilience

      American Resilience

      “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” mourns the death of President Abraham Lincoln, who was assassinated in 1865. As the speaker considers what will happen to the United States in the face of such a profound and violent tragedy, he ends up affirming the beauty and resilience of the American spirit. The poem suggests that the nation will persevere and continue to grow and flourish even after Lincoln’s death—and perhaps even more powerfully because of this experience of loss.

      Throughout the poem, the rich natural landscapes of the United States is meant to be symbolic of the beauty and resilience of the American people themselves. The speaker mentions “grass in the fields,” prairies with corn, and the “pale green leaves” of forests—all things that call attention to the country’s breadth and diversity. The speaker also mentions ocean winds that blow into the center of the country from both the eastern and western coasts. This highlights the expansiveness of the country, and the diversity of all these different landscapes speaks to the unifying strength of the American spirit—something that unites the American people from coast to coast in a shared sense of perseverance.

      The speaker also depicts American industry, including “all the scenes of life and the workshops” as well as “workmen” going home at the end of the day. These images convey the hard work and dedication of the American people, who have become an important part of the country’s beautiful natural landscapes.

      Building on this natural imagery, the speaker implies that just as spring follows winter, so too will American ideals reemerge after Lincoln’s death. In other words, this national tragedy—a literal death that has metaphorically plunged the country into a winter of grief and despair—won’t prevent the nation from flourishing again.

      To illustrate this idea, the speaker says he will mourn the anniversary of Lincoln’s death each spring, yet also remarks that this spring is “ever-returning.” The imagery of new leaves, blooming flowers, and violets that “peep[] from the ground” suggests that life is strong enough to withstand the winter and grow again. Similarly, the resilience of the American people will allow them to survive this period of loss and flourish in the future.

      The poem also repeatedly returns to the figure of a lone bird who comes out of a swamp to sing and reassure the speaker. This small bird has managed to withstand the winter cold thanks to its resilient spirit. Just as this bird reemerges to sing after a long winter, so too, the poem implies, will the American people flourish again after this time of grief.

    • Theme Death as a Natural Part of Life

      Death as a Natural Part of Life

      In mourning the death of Abraham Lincoln, the poem meditates on mortality more broadly. It spotlights and criticizes the human capacity for destruction, but it also suggests that death is a natural, crucial, and even beautiful part of life.

      The poem is filled with images of death, some of which initially seem frightening and awful. The speaker emphasizes the grief and confusion he feels in the wake of Lincoln’s assassination—a death that was far from natural—and also frequently alludes to (though never directly mentions) the American Civil War, evoking images of “battle corpses” and “the white skeletons of young men.” Through all of this imagery, the speaker laments human beings’ ability to do so much harm to one another.

      At the same time, the speaker suggests that those who have died are now at peace. Death is a natural part of life, the poem implies, and not necessarily something to be feared. To that end, the soldiers who died in war are “fully at rest” and no longer suffer. Those who are still alive suffer for them, but those soldiers themselves are now free from humanity’s violence.

      The bird that sings a “carol of death” is yet another indication that death is natural. In this song, the bird praises “lovely and soothing death,” which offers relief from suffering and is intricately connected with all aspects of nature, including the “tree-tops,” “waves,” and “prairies.” This makes death seem harmonious and peaceful.

      The speaker also envisions the “knowledge of death” walking next to him like a friend, suggesting that the speaker and death are equals or “companions.” In this image, death is not something frightening, but something to be acknowledged and embraced as part of human life.

      The poem even implies that death can be redemptive; in other words, positive changes can emerge from otherwise tragic deaths. The poem subtly links Lincoln’s assassination to the crucifixion of Christ. Lincoln died on Good Friday, and the poem connects Lincoln’s death to springtime and to a star that has “fallen” out of heaven. This imagery alludes to Christ’s crucifixion, which according to the biblical narrative also occurred in the spring. The poem thus suggests that Lincoln is a kind of Christlike figure whose martyrdom will offer redemption to the United States.

      The poem reaffirms this with its imagery and descriptions. For instance, the speaker describes how Lincoln’s funeral train passes through the country, and, in the train’s wake, “every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields [is] uprisen.” Here, the speaker describes wheat growing out of the ground and out of its husks; yet he also suggests that the wheat is emerging from its “shroud,” which is another name for funeral cloth. This suggests that Lincoln’s death has enabled a kind of life beyond death—a resurrection in the surrounding landscape and the country as a whole.

      While the poem mourns Lincoln’s death, then, the speaker also suggests that death is not something to be feared. Instead, the poem depicts death as a crucial part of the natural world and the cycle of life, implying that even the most terrible deaths can lead to new possibilities.

    • Theme Public and Private Grief

      Public and Private Grief

      The poem mourns a very public national loss: the death of President Abraham Lincoln. But the speaker also expresses his grief and mourning in very personal ways. The poem implies that people did not need to personally know Lincoln to feel his death as a gutting, intimate loss—a loss no less painful for being experienced by the entire nation at once. There is no collective or public experience of grief, the poem ultimately suggests, without individual, personal experiences of that grief as well.

      The speaker acknowledges the public nature of this loss; Lincoln’s death, the poem makes clear, is a national tragedy. The poem refers to Lincoln’s funeral train, for example, which traveled from Washington, D.C. to Springfield, Illinois (over seven states). The train made a number of public stops so that people throughout the country could pay their respects. The speaker evokes this journey, describing the “[c]offin that passes through lanes and streets” and “the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads.” The poem emphasizes just how extensive this shared grief is, “[w]ith processions long and winding” and “[w]ith the countless torches lit” to memorialize Lincoln. The repetition of “with” in this list spotlights the fact that people have come together to share their grief.

      At the same time, the way the speaker expresses his own grief feels intensely private and personal. The poem never names Lincoln specifically; rather, the speaker refers to Lincoln throughout as “him I love.” This term sounds almost as though the poem is a love poem or poem honoring a close friend. The speaker also describes leaving the “infinite separate houses” of other people to walk alone into the woods and contemplate death—an act of private mourning amidst the country's mourning as a whole.

      The speaker thus seems somehow separated from the masses despite their shared pain—something the poem suggests that every grieving citizen may experience. Those processions of mourners may come together in their sadness, yet the poem implies that each of these people must also cope with their own, private grief. These personal experiences are small parts of a larger sorrow, yet no less valid for their intimacy.

  • Line-by-Line Explanation & Analysis of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”

    • Lines 1-6

      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.

      The speaker begins by saying that he grieved when "lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd," meaning that he went through a period of mourning during springtime (which is when lilacs bloom). He also sets the scene by describing a bright "star" on the western horizon (most likely Venus, the brightest thing in the western sky during spring). The speaker also adds that he will "mourn" each time spring returns and brings back these images—images that evoke thoughts of a lost loved one ("him I love").

      Although the speaker doesn’t directly name of this loved one, the context of the poem helps make sense of these opening lines. The poem was published in 1865, the same year President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. Written in the wake of this national tragedy, the poem describes the speaker's grief and sense of loss surrounding the president's death. Instead of stating the president's name, the speaker expresses his grief through imagery and metaphor.

      To that end, the fact that the speaker mentions lilacs is significant because they bloom in the spring, thus representing the first signs of new life after winter. This hints at a kind of metaphorical winter, as if Lincoln’s assassination plunged the nation into a state of mourning that was as cold and unforgiving as a harsh winter. The image of the lilacs therefore suggests that new life is possible even after loss, even if this new life also brings with it a renewed sense of grief.

      The star in the western sky is also symbolic. In the Bible, the star of Bethlehem signaled the birth of Christ. But in the poem, the speaker describes the star as falling from the sky, thus symbolizing Lincoln's premature death while still subtly presenting him as a Christ-like figure, someone who may redeem the country as a whole.

      The speaker reaffirms this biblical connection by saying that spring will always bring back this “trinity” of the lilac, the star, and the thoughts of Lincoln. The “trinity” alludes to the biblical trinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. But the “trinity” in this poem consists of ordinary things in the natural world—the lilac bush, the star in the sky, and even memories of someone who has died. The speaker suggests that these things too are sacred, and that in losing Lincoln, the nation has lost a spiritual leader.

      Several poetic devices in these lines reinforce their meaning. First, the speaker repeats the word “mourn,” in the past tense (“mourn’d”) and then in the future tense. This polyptoton conveys the sense that the speaker’s grief and mourning is ongoing.

      At the same time, the repetition of the phrase “ever-returning spring” suggests that spring too is eternal and continuously returning. Taken together, this repetition suggests that mourning and death are a constant for the speaker, but so too is the reality of springtime and new life.

      The internal rhyme of “spring” and “bring” affirms this sense, showing that spring will always bring a renewed sense of grief for the speaker, but will also offer other things—such as the scent of lilacs. Finally, the alliterative /l/ sounds in “lilacs" and “last” simply adds a musical effect to the poem's opening line, showcasing the speaker's lyrical and nostalgic tone.

    • Lines 7-11

      O powerful western fallen star!
      O shades of night—O moody, tearful night!
      O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!
      O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!
      O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

    • Lines 12-17

      In the dooryard 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 dooryard,
      With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
      A sprig with its flower I break.

    • Lines 18-25

      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 granted to sing thou would’st surely die.)

    • Lines 26-32

      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,
      Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,
      Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,
      Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,
      Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
      Night and day journeys a coffin.

    • Lines 33-38

      Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
      Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,
      With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black,
      With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing,
      With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,
      With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,

    • Lines 39-45

      With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
      With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,
      With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin,
      The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey,
      With the tolling tolling bells’ perpetual clang,
      Here, coffin that slowly passes,
      I give you my sprig of lilac.

    • Lines 46-54

      (Nor for you, for one alone,
      Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring,
      For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.
      All over bouquets of roses,
      O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,
      But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
      Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,
      With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,
      For you and the coffins all of you O death.)

    • Lines 55-60

      O western orb sailing the heaven,
      Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk’d,
      As I walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy 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,)

    • Lines 61-65

      As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe,
      As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night,
      As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night,
      As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb,
      Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.

    • Lines 66-70

      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.

    • Lines 71-77

      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.

    • Lines 78-88

      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.

    • Lines 89-98

      Lo, body and soul—this land,
      My own 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.
      Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty,
      The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes,
      The gentle soft-born measureless light,
      The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill’d noon,
      The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars,
      Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.

    • Lines 99-107

      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.

    • Lines 108-116

      Now while I sat in the day and look’d forth,
      In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing their crops,
      In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,
      In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,)
      Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
      The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d,
      And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,
      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—

    • Lines 116-125

      lo, then and there,
      Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,
      Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail,
      And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.
      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.

    • Lines 126-134

      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.

    • Lines 135-142

      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.

    • Lines 143-150

      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.

    • Lines 151-158

      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.

    • Lines 159-162

      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.

    • Lines 163-170

      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.

    • Lines 171-176

      And I saw askant the armies,
      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.

    • Lines 177-184

      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.

    • Lines 185-194

      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.

    • Lines 195-197

      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.

    • Lines 198-206

      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.

  • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Symbols

    • Symbol The Lilacs

      The Lilacs

      The lilac that springs up throughout the poem is a rich symbol of renewal and rebirth.

      The speaker revels in the lilac's beautiful scent and its heart-shaped leaves, and notes that the lilac bush is the first to bloom every spring. The lilac, then, represents the springtime reemergence of beauty, hope, and life after a period of winter or death. This reviving lilac suggests that life will continue after this period of grief and that the American people will flourish again even after Lincoln’s assassination. Perhaps it holds deeper hopes, too: if nature always speaks of rebirth, perhaps there's a chance that even mortal humans aren't gone forever when they die.

    • Symbol The Star

      The Star

      The “western star” that has “fallen” in the sky symbolizes Lincoln himself, who also “fell” too soon when he was assassinated. When the speaker mourns the loss of the star to darkness, he implicitly mourns the loss of the President. (Note that this "star" is actually a reference to the planet Venus.)

      The speaker describes a night a month before, when he “wander’d” with the star, feeling as though it approached him to tell him something. In a terrible moment of premonition, the star falls away from the speaker’s view; the speaker's “unease” seems to anticipate Lincoln's terrible death.

      The star might also call to mind the Star of Bethlehem, which according to the Biblical narrative appeared in the sky when Jesus was born. This association suggests that Lincoln was a Christ-like figure, who led the American people (like a bright light in the sky), and whose death is similar to Christ’s crucifixion.

    • Symbol The Bird

      The Bird

      The poem's singing bird, the “thrush” who sings by himself in a “swamp," symbolizes knowledge, awareness, and acceptance of death. The speaker depicts this bird as a kind of “hermit,” a religious person who has withdrawn from human society in order to live a spiritual life, seeking deeper truths.

      The speaker describes the bird as singing a “carol of death.” And when the speaker leaves behind the activity of daily life, approaching the swamp with the “knowledge of death” and “thought of death,” he too comes to a greater understanding and even praise of death as a crucial part of life.

      But the bird, like the lilac, is one of the first creatures to emerge after the winter cold and sing again; his “song,” then, is a song of death, but also of the resilience of life, which continues past winter and death itself. Since the bird brings together an understanding of death and life, it could also be read as representing wisdom. The bird—and by extension the speaker—express this wisdom through their poetry, or “song.”

    • Symbol Night and Darkness

      Night and Darkness

      Night, in this poem, symbolizes death, and a time of emotional or spiritual “darkness.”

      The way in which the speaker uses this symbol changes over the course of the poem. Near the beginning of the poem, the speaker represents night in traditional and negative ways. The speaker recalls the “western star,” which symbolizes Lincoln, “falling” and being “lost” in the “black of the night.” The speaker also describes the night as “black murk” that hides the star. In these moments of the poem, night symbolizes death, with an emphasis on loss and grief.

      As the poem progresses, though, the speaker begins to warm to night, and eventually describes it as “welcome." These changes in the poem’s treatment of night and darkness convey the speaker’s growing understanding and acceptance of death as a part of life.

    • Symbol The Spring

      The Spring

      Throughout the poem, the speaker emphasizes the time of year: it is springtime, and specifically April, when flowers are just beginning to bloom, and new leaves are appearing on the trees. There's a literal reason for this: Lincoln was assassinated in April. But there's also symbolic meaning here: spring traditionally represents rebirth and new life after a period of darkness and winter. This new life can be physical (in the sense of plants and flowers reemerging) and also emotional, implying that after a period of spiritual winter or loss, people can again experience joy and hope.

      Spring, the season of Easter, also suggests Christ’s resurrection, implying that new life is possible after death and even that death can enable a different kind of life or rebirth. This symbolism implies that Lincoln’s death, like Christ’s, has a redemptive quality, and that the American people will somehow be reborn in the wake of this tragedy.

  • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Poetic Devices & Figurative Language

    • Imagery

      Imagery brings the poem's world to life, evoking both the joy of spring and the pain of grief through vivid, sensuous description.

      The poem is set in a springtime world full of lilac bushes with "heart-shaped leaves of rich green." And even as Lincoln’s funeral train makes its sad journey, it moves through landscapes full of “grass in the fields,” “yellow-spear’d wheat,” and "apple-tree blows of white and pink."

      By sections 10 and 11, when the speaker imagines what he could bring to Lincoln’s grave, his imagery expands to conjure "pictures" of the entire United States, including “sea-winds” off the coasts, "floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun," and "the gray smoke lucid and bright." This varied imagery conveys the richness of the land that the speaker celebrates, and by extension the vibrancy of the U.S. itself.

      When the speaker moves away from the activity of the living world to approach the singing bird in the swamp, the imagery of the poem changes. This "dim" place, so different from the active brightness of earlier landscapes, allows the speaker to meditate on death; he envisions "battle-corpses" and "the white skeletons of young men."

      Section 16's final procession of imagery, in which familiar images like the starry "comrade lustrous with silver face in the night" and "the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim" return and combine, brings together celebration and grief. Both life and death, the poem's imagery finally suggests, are part of a vibrant whole.

    • Asyndeton

    • Anaphora

    • Allusion

    • Rhetorical Question

    • Personification

    • Apostrophe

    • Repetition

    • Juxtaposition

    • Metaphor

    • Alliteration

    • Consonance

    • Assonance

  • "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d" Vocabulary

    Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.

    • Bloom’d
    • Trinity
    • Perennial
    • Shades
    • Palings
    • Sprig
    • Recesses
    • Warbling
    • Hermit
    • Yellow-spear’d
    • Shroud
    • Crape-veil’d
    • Dirges
    • Shuddering
    • Sane
    • Copious
    • Orb
    • Woe
    • Netherward
    • Comrade
    • Chamber
    • Adorn
    • Fourth-month eve
    • Lo
    • Ample
    • Haughty
    • Measureless
    • Reedy
    • Unconscious
    • Aerial
    • Perturb’d
    • Swift
    • Throbbings
    • Receiving
    • Carol
    • Undulate
    • Fathomless
    • Cool-enfolding
    • Saluting
    • Husky
    • Myriad
    • Teeming wharves
    • Askant
    • Hither and yon
    • Tallying chant
    • Dusk and dim
    • “Bloom’d” is an archaic (that is, old-fashioned) spelling of “bloomed.” Whitman uses similar spellings for past-tense verbs throughout the poem (“mourn’d” for “mourned,” “droop’d” for “drooped,” etc.)

  • Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”

    • Form

      “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” is written in the form of a pastoral elegy: a traditional poem of mourning, often for a public figure. An elegy becomes "pastoral" when it's set in nature, focusing on life in the countryside; "pastoral" literally means "relating to shepherds." In a traditional pastoral elegy, the speaker begins by grieving the person who has died, but eventually comes around to a deeper acceptance of death, comforted by the renewal of nature.

      Whitman’s poem follows this form in several ways. The poem elegizes Lincoln and mourns his death. While the speaker suffers over the loss of Lincoln, he ultimately comes to see death as a natural part of life, and finds hope in the rebirth of lilacs in the springtime.

      But the poem also diverges from the pastoral elegy form in important ways. Traditionally, a pastoral elegy focuses on the person who has died. Yet the speaker of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” foregrounds his personal experience of grief, and by extension the individual experiences of all the Americans who are mourning. This change makes the form feel more democratic, suggesting that the common person's grief is just as meaningful as the tragedy of the fallen hero.

      The poem is made out of 16 sections of different lengths and structures, in which the speaker cycles through repeating, evolving images of springtime, lilacs, Lincoln's funeral train, a singing bird, night, and a western star that “fell” in the night sky. In the poem’s closing section, the speaker returns to all of these images and ties them together, depicting them as “retrievements,” meaningful memories that he (and his poem's readers) can carry with them. Over the course of this poem, the speaker gradually develops a new acceptance of life and death, incorporating all the images that have touched him into a larger understanding.

    • Meter

      Whitman wanted to create a distinctly American poetry that would celebrate democratic values. He wanted his poems to feel accessible and immediate, and to use the rhythms of everyday speech. “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” thus uses free verse, which means it has no set meter, or even a regular line length: some lines are as short as 6 syllables, and others over 20 syllables long, and those lines vary widely in their stresses and sounds.

      Without meter, the poem has a natural, organic quality, like the landscapes and lilac bush that the speaker describes. This free-flowing sound fits right in with the poem's celebration of springtime lushness and vitality. The poem’s varied lines also reflect the variety in the landscapes the speaker describes all across the U.S., from the east and west coasts to the prairies in the middle of the country.

      From the short, quiet lines when the speaker describes the singing bird, to the expansive, long lines when he depicts the life of surrounding fields and farmland, the poem's changing rhythm reflects the "ever-altering" song of life and death that the speaker describes.

    • Rhyme Scheme

      Written in free verse, “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” has no set rhyme scheme. This lack of rhyme adds to the poem’s natural, immediate feeling. In abandoning poetic conventions like rhyme and meter, Whitman tried to move away from older European traditions, creating a more open and freer style that could speak directly to American experience.

      But while there's no rhyme here, the poem is far from ordinary speech! Throughout, the poem uses a rich variety of sound devices, including alliteration, assonance, and consonance (for more about each of these, see the Poetic Devices section of this guide).

      It also includes several moments of internal rhyme, including in “spring” and “bring” in the opening section (which also create rhymes at the line endings of lines 3 and 4) and “morn” and “born” in section 12. These internal rhymes and sound effects lift the poem out of ordinary speech into a kind of music, so that the poem becomes a record of the “song” of grief and celebration that he hears emerging from the singing bird and his own soul.

  • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Speaker

    • The speaker of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” remains anonymous and ungendered throughout the poem. Most readers, though, interpret the speaker as Whitman himself.

      Whitman wrote about his admiration for Lincoln, and of his perception of “a deep latent sadness” in the President’s face. The image of the star in the poem, with its face full of “woe” or deep sadness, fits right in with this impression. Whitman also wrote of having seen the planet Venus, which he described as a "western star," just weeks before Lincoln’s assassination. Whitman’s own experiences and his personal love and admiration for the President seem likely to have inspired this poem.

      The speaker also identifies with the singing bird, and with the bird’s “song.” This connection draws on a long tradition linking poetry and music, especially birdsong; poets are often spoken of as singers or songbirds. This speaker’s “song” is the poem itself.

      At the same time, it's important that the speaker never directly identifies himself. In his poetry, Whitman was interested in exploring the meaning of the individual, and how the "I" connects to the "we." The speaker of the poem is both individual and expansive: he's able to imagine all the country's mourners, and to channel their grief into this poem. The speaker, then, can be understood as a representation of Whitman, but also as a representation of all grieving Americans.

      One thing is certain about this speaker: he's a passionate, reflective, and soulful character, with an ability to see life and death as part of a grand and beautiful pattern.

  • “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Setting

    • In the most literal sense, the poem is set in 1865, after the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. Whitman was in Washington, D.C. at the time, having worked as a military nurse there during the American Civil War. The poem's imagery of early spring, including the blooming lilacs, and the swamp where the bird sings, with its cedars and pine trees, is clearly inspired by the natural landscape of the U.S. east coast.

      Yet the poem also travels beyond this setting, conjuring landscapes across the United States as it follows the cross-country route of Lincoln’s funeral train. These expansive vistas suggest that the setting of the poem is actually the entire United States, as the speaker expresses a whole country's grief.

      The speaker also uses the different settings of the poem to explore his themes. For instance, the singing bird's shadowy swamp contrasts with the vivid springtime of the lilac bush and the fields and farms. As the speaker moves back and forth between these settings, he comes to a deeper understanding of the intimate relationship between life and death. In encompassing landscapes of darkness and light, swamp and field, the poem ultimately praises both sides of existence as necessary parts of the larger “miracle” of the world.

  • Literary and Historical Context of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”

    • Literary Context

      This poem first appeared in the Sequel to Drum-Taps, an 1865 poetry collection which dealt with Whitman's experiences as a nurse during the American Civil War. Whitman revised and expanded the book after Lincoln's assassination, adding a group of elegiac poems including “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d."

      Whitman wanted to create a new and distinctly American kind of poetry. He discarded meter and rhyme scheme, seeking a poetics closer to ordinary speech and expansive enough to include a range of American experiences. “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” reflects these aspects of Whitman’s writing, using free verse to call attention to ordinary, humble aspects of daily life in the United States.

      But the poem also draws on the old tradition of the pastoral elegy in its images of the beauty of springtime and its sense of Lincoln as a kind of shepherd, guiding and protecting the American people even after death. By writing the poem in this form, Whitman brought his elegy into conversation with other poets who wrote famous pastoral elegies, especially Virgil, Milton, and Shelley.

      Whitman’s poetry and style had a profound impact on American poetry, and he is considered one of the most important American poets of the 19th century. To give just one example, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" is often cited as an influence on T.S. Eliot’s "The Waste Land," which borrows Whitman's imagery of lilacs and a “hermit-thrush." "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd" has also more than once been set to music—notably by the Black composer George T. Walker, Jr., whose Lilacs won the 1996 Pulitzer Prize for Music.

      Historical Context

      Whitman wrote “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” in the summer of 1865. President Abraham Lincoln had been assassinated in April, and the nation was deep in mourning. The poem alludes to specific historical details of this era, including Lincoln’s funeral train, which carried the president’s body from Washington, D.C. to his hometown, Springfield, Illinois, where he was buried. The train made numerous stops along the way so that Americans across the country could pay their respects.

      The larger historical context of the poem and of Lincoln’s assassination is that of the American Civil War, which ended just a few days before Lincoln died. Whitman worked as a nurse during the war, and the poem alludes to its horrors multiple times, particularly when the speaker describes his terrible vision of soldiers who have died in battle.

      This poem thus emerges from a time of profound national turmoil. Although the Civil War had ended, Lincoln’s death was another appalling act of violence from which the country would need to recover. (Lincoln was also the first American president to be assassinated, making his death even more shocking.) This historical moment makes the poem's imagery of death and springtime all the more meaningful. Whitman suggests that, despite its deep loss, confusion, and despair, the country would eventually heal and flourish again.

  • More “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” Resources