Sunday, June 8, 2014


Lilacs, Oil on Board
All the white is covered and the violet seems too dark now.  I keep thinking of Lincoln and Whitman.
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.