At present I ask not you to sound;
Not at the head of my cavalry, all on their spirited horses,
With their sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines clanking by their
thighs--(ah, my brave horsemen!
Not at the head of my cavalry, all on their spirited horses,
With their sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines clanking by their
thighs--(ah, my brave horsemen!
Whitman
O my veterans, passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.
9.
The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music;
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.
_SURVIVORS. _
How solemn, as one by one,
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty--as the men file by where I
stand;
As the faces, the masks appear--as I glance at the faces, studying the
masks;
As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you
are;--
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to
you!
I see, behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul.
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are.
--The soul, yourself, I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting secure and content,--which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!
_HYMN OF DEAD SOLDIERS. _
1.
One breath, O my silent soul!
A perfumed thought--no more I ask, for the sake of all dead soldiers.
2.
Buglers off in my armies!
At present I ask not you to sound;
Not at the head of my cavalry, all on their spirited horses,
With their sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines clanking by their
thighs--(ah, my brave horsemen! My handsome, tan-faced horsemen!
what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils, were yours! )
Nor you drummers--neither at _reveille_, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp--nor even the muffled beat for a
burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.
3.
But aside from these, and the crowd's hurrahs, and the land's
congratulations,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers.
4.
Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet;
Draw close, but speak not.
Phantoms, welcome, divine and tender!
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions;
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live!
Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living, sweet are the musical voices
sounding;
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.
Dearest comrades! all now is over;
But love is not over--and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battlefields rising--up from foetor arising.
Perfume therefore my chant, O love!
What I have I also give you.
9.
The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music;
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.
_SURVIVORS. _
How solemn, as one by one,
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty--as the men file by where I
stand;
As the faces, the masks appear--as I glance at the faces, studying the
masks;
As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you
are;--
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to
you!
I see, behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul.
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are.
--The soul, yourself, I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting secure and content,--which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!
_HYMN OF DEAD SOLDIERS. _
1.
One breath, O my silent soul!
A perfumed thought--no more I ask, for the sake of all dead soldiers.
2.
Buglers off in my armies!
At present I ask not you to sound;
Not at the head of my cavalry, all on their spirited horses,
With their sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines clanking by their
thighs--(ah, my brave horsemen! My handsome, tan-faced horsemen!
what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils, were yours! )
Nor you drummers--neither at _reveille_, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp--nor even the muffled beat for a
burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.
3.
But aside from these, and the crowd's hurrahs, and the land's
congratulations,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers.
4.
Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet;
Draw close, but speak not.
Phantoms, welcome, divine and tender!
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions;
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live!
Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living, sweet are the musical voices
sounding;
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.
Dearest comrades! all now is over;
But love is not over--and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battlefields rising--up from foetor arising.
Perfume therefore my chant, O love!
