Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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| 1 ASHES of soldiers! |
| As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought, |
| Lo! The war resumes—again to my sense your shapes, |
| And again the advance of the armies. |
| 2 Noiseless as mists and vapors, |
| From their graves in the trenches ascending, |
| From their cemeteries all through Virginia and Ten-
nessee, |
| From every point of the compass, out of the countless
unnamed graves, |
| In wafted clouds, in myriads large, or squads of twos
or threes, or single ones, they come, |
| And silently gather round me. |
| 3 Now sound no note, O trumpeters, |
| Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited
horses, |
| With sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines by
their thighs, (ah my brave horsemen! |
)
|
| My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy
and pride, |
| With all the perils, were yours!) |
| 4 Nor you drummers—neither at reveillé 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. |
| 5 But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and
the crowded promenade, |
| Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the
rest and voiceless, |
| 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. |
| 6 Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather
closer yet; |
| Draw close, but speak not. |
| 7 Phantoms of countless lost, |
| Invisible to the rest henceforth become my compan-
ions! |
| Follow me ever—desert me not while I live. |
| 8 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. |
| 9 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. |
| 10 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. |
)
|
| 11 Perfume all! make all wholesome! |
| Make these ashes to nourish and blossom, |
| O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last
chemistry. |
| 12 Give me exhaustless—make me a fountain, |
| That I exhale love from me wherever I go like a moist
perennial dew, |
| For the ashes of all dead soldiers. |