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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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ASHES OF SOLDIERS.
ASHES of soldiers South or North, |
As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought, |
The war resumes, again to my sense your shapes, |
And again the advance of the armies. |
Noiseless as mists and vapors, |
From their graves in the trenches ascending, |
From cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, |
From every point of the compass out of the countless graves, |
In wafted clouds, in myriads large, or squads of twos or threes or
single ones they come,
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And silently gather round me. |
Now sound no note O trumpeters, |
Not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses, |
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With sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs, (ah
my brave horsemen!
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My handsome tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, |
With all the perils were yours.) |
Nor you drummers, neither at reveillé at dawn, |
Nor the long roll alarming the camp, nor even the muffled beat
for a burial,
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Nothing from you this time O drummers bearing my warlike drums. |
But aside from these and the marts of wealth and the crowded
promenade,
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Admitting around me comrades close unseen by the rest and
voiceless,
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The slain elate and alive again, the dust and debris alive, |
I chant this chant of my silent soul in the name of all dead
soldiers.
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Faces so pale with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet, |
Draw close, but speak not. |
Phantoms of countless lost, |
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 musi-
cal voices sounding,
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But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead with their silent eyes. |
Dearest comrades, all is over and long gone, |
But love is not over—and what love, O comrades! |
Perfume from battle-fields rising, up from the foetor arising. |
Perfume therefore my chant, O love, immortal love, |
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, |
Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride. |
Perfume all—make all wholesome, |
Make these ashes to nourish and blossom, |
O love, solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry. |
Give me exhaustless, make me a fountain, |
That I exhale love from me wherever I go like a moist perennial
dew,
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For the ashes of all dead soldiers South or North. |
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