My mother and my grandfather often recited this poem by Walt Whitman to me when I was young. It was my first thought when I saw that the lilacs by the garage door actually have buds this year-- the first year since we moved to South Hollow. The two bushes were planted at the corner by the landscapers. I could not identify them for certain without a bloom except for knowing the heart-shaped leaves and the smooth bark on the stems resembled a lilac of some sort. I think they have been pruned in the spring instead of the the fall these past two years by the landscapers. This year I have blooms. They may be by the garage door--and not the
dooryard-- but I am happy.
In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d 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.
Walt Whitman
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