Ever-returning spring

All along the road, especially north and east of Sabago, we are treated to the incomparable smell and sight of lilacs in full bloom.  The faintest whiff of lilacs never fails to bring to mind Walt Whitman's soulful commemoration on the death of his beloved President, Abraham Lincoln. There is no evidence that I know of that Whitman ever actually met Lincoln, but when did that ever matter when the passion is for an ideal and  for  promise  only partially fulfilled?  It is a good thing that poetry, like the smell  of lilacs and the sight of  the drooping great star, outlives us all. And why, on remembering lilacs and reading Whitman, do I feel a sense of mourning or maybe simply resignation as we head into the election season?

The full poem has 16 parts, here are two of them for whatever road you are taking.

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.

In  the dooryard fronting an old farm-house in the white-washed 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.