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 wouldst surely die).

5.

Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peeped 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-speared wheat, every grain from its shroud in the
          dark-brown fields up-risen,
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 inlooped flags, with the cities draped in black,
With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veiled 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 poured 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.

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 walked,
As I walked in silence the transparent shadowy night,
As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night,
As you drooped from the sky low down as if to my side (while the other
          stars all looked on),
As we wandered 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 watched where you passed 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.