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Walt Whitman

(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892 / New York / United States)

Hush'd Be the Camps Today


Hush'd be the camps today,
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,
Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Jane Moon (5/14/2009 1:23:00 PM)

    Lyrical, yet somber commemoration of the sudden death of the commander - honoring the death of Lincoln. This poem conveys the love, respect, and mourning of the troops. (Report) Reply

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