Walt Whitman
New York / United States
Explore Poems GO!

Pensive On Her Dead Gazing, I Heard The Mother Of All

Rating: 2.8

PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All,
Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-
fields gazing;
(As the last gun ceased--but the scent of the powder-smoke linger'd;)
As she call'd to her earth with mournful voice while she stalk'd:
Absorb them well, O my earth, she cried--I charge you, lose not my
sons! lose not an atom;
And you streams, absorb them well, taking their dear blood;
And you local spots, and you airs that swim above lightly,
And all you essences of soil and growth--and you, my rivers' depths;
Read More
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS
Jane Moon 02 July 2009
This is an ode to the many young men lost in the Civil War, mourning their early deaths. Walt Whitman mourns these soldiers, who would have been the future of the country, so many millions killed in years of battles, devastating families and covering so much of the countryside. Such a loss of an entire generation: may they be remembered forever. (Let this be a message for us all: as we walk on a battlefield, honor the men who fought and died there. The spot where each died is indeed a holy place.)
1 1 Reply

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

5/7/2021 11:40:06 AM # 1.0.0.577