So wrote American poet Walt Whitman (1819-1892) in his elegy for the slain American President, Abraham Lincoln.
|Edouard Manet, White Lilacs in a Crystal Vase, 1883|
|Mary Cassatt, Lilacs in a Window, ca. 1880-1883, Metropolitan Museum|
|Pierre Matisse, Interior, The Dog, Black, and Bouquet of Lilacs, 1908|
|Vincent Van Gogh, Vase with Lilacs, Daisies and Anemones, 1887|
|Henri Fantin-Latour, Lilacs, 1872|
|Paul Gauguin, Lilacs, Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza|
Lilacs in dooryards
Holding quiet conversations with an early moon;
Lilacs watching a deserted house
Settling sideways into the grass of an old road;
---from "Lilacs" by Amy Lowell
Lowell might very well have had Willard Metcalf's White Lilacs in mind, his dooryard lilacs glowing in the moonlight.
Ferdinand Hodler (Swiss, 1853-1918) had this take on a lilac.
Color of lilac.
Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England,
Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England,
Lilac in me because I am New England,
Because my roots are in it,
Because my leaves are of it,
Because my flowers are for it,
Because it is my country
And I speak to it of itself
And sing of it with my own voice
Since certainly it is mine.
Happy Mother's Day