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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY.
( May 4, 1865. )
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.
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As they invault the coffin there, |
Sing—as they close the doors of earth upon him—one verse, |
For the heavy hearts of soldiers. |
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