Lilacs

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.