Actually, I didn’t take photos of our humble lilacs in time, so the above photo shows one of five Korean lilacs that line the path from the driveway to my door. The Korean Lilac's names are: Ko, Re, An, Li, and Lac. They are the sweetest-smelling flowers on Earth. (More photos below:)
The title of this blog entry comes from a poem of Walt Whitman’s. It’s really a poem of sadness about the death of Lincoln. And isn’t the title beautiful and haunting? Walt Whitman was one of my favorite poets in college.
Here are the first three verses out of fifteen of this poem:
When lilacs last in the door-yard 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.
And thought of him I love.
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!
In the door-yard 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 door-yard,
With delicate-color’d blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break.
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
The photos at the end of this entry are varied shots of the yard where I live. You will see an entrance to the yard from the back, flowering crabapple trees and blossoms, spirea, wild phlox, fern, mock orange bushes in bloom, a lone dandelion, and I don’t remember what else.
How fortunate I am to live surrounded with such beauty. And aren't we all?