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HUSH'D be the camps to-day;
And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons;
And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate,
Our dear commander's death.
No more for him life's stormy conflicts;
Nor victory, nor defeat--no more time's dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing, poet, in our name;
Sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it
truly.
As they invault the coffin there; 10
Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.
Walt Whitman
Read poems about / on: war, dark, sky, death, time, life, soldier
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Walt Whitman
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