Death, for the speaker in Countee Cullen’s “On Going,” is not a wall but a doorway into the natural world. He imagines leaving his body behind as a soft, almost comfortable change: becoming a spring blossom, a blackbird’s song, snow melting into soil, food for growing trees, or help for lilies to bloom. There is no fear here. Instead, the mood is peaceful and tender, full of motion and growth. Even his love is not left out. If she feels lonely and longs for his nearness, he says he may return to her as rain and speak in “liquid words.” The poem turns mourning into a kind of quiet reassurance—that after death, a person may stay close in the living world, in weather, plants, birdsong, and all the small beautiful things that continue.
On Going — Summary
A grave is all too weak a thing To hold my fancy long; I’ll bear a blossom with the spring, Or be a blackbird’s song,
I think that I shall fade with ease, Melt into earth like snow, Be food for hungry, growing trees, Or help the lilies blow.
And if my love should lonely walk, Quite of my nearness fain, I may come back to her, and talk In liquid words of rain.