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The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding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 granted to sing thou
would'st surely die.)
5
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.
6
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,
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 bell's perpetual
clang,
Here, coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.
7
(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.)
8
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,)
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.