To the dead man, the poet offers "my sprig of lilac," his obituary tribute. The poet brings fresh blossoms not for Lincoln alone, but for all men. He chants a song "for you 0 sane and sacred death" and offers flowers to "the coffins all of you 0 death."
The poet now addresses the star shining in the western sky: "Now I know what you must have meant." Last month the star seemed as if it "had something to tell" the poet. Whitman imagines that the star was full of woe "as the night advanced" until it vanished "in the netherward black of the night." Whitman calls upon the bird to continue singing. Yet the poet momentarily lingers on, held by the evening star, "my departing comrade."
The symbols are retained throughout this section. The poet bestows, as a mark of affection, a sprig of lilac on the coffin. The association of death with an object of growing life is significant. The star confides in the poet — a heavenly body identifies itself with an earthly being. The star is identified with Lincoln, and the poet is still under the influence of his personal grief for the dead body of Lincoln, and not yet able to perceive the spiritual existence of Lincoln after death. The song of the hermit thrush finally makes the poet aware of the deathless and the spiritual existence of Lincoln.
In the third cycle of the poem, sections 10-13, the poet wonders how he shall sing "for the large sweet soul that has gone." How shall he compose his tribute for the "dead one there I loved"? With his poem he wishes to "perfume the grave of him I love." The pictures on the dead president's tomb, he says, should be of spring and sun and Leaves, a river, hills, and the sky, the city dense with dwellings, and people at work — in short, "all the scenes of life." The "body and soul" of America will be in them, the beauties of Manhattan spires as well as the shores of the Ohio and the Missouri rivers — all "the varied and ample land." The "gray-brown bird" is singing "from the swamps" its "loud human song" of woe. The song has a liberating effect on the poet's soul, although the star still holds him, as does the mastering odor" of the lilac.
