Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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¹ ONE breath, O my silent soul,

A perfum'd 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 glist'ning, and carbines
clanking by their thighs—(ah, my brave horse-
men!

My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy
and pride,

With all the perils, were yours!)

³ 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.

⁴ But aside from these, and the crowd's hurrahs, and
the land's congratulations,

Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the
the rest, and voiceless,

I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all
dead soldiers.

⁵ Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather
closer yet:

Draw close, but speak not.

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⁶ Phantoms, welcome, divine and tender!

Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my compan-
ions;

Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.

⁷ 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.

⁸ Dearest comrades! all now is over;

But love is not over—and what love, O comrades!

Perfume from battle-fields rising—up from fœtor
arising.

⁹ Perfume therefore my chant, o love! immortal Love!

Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers.

¹⁰ Perfume all! make all wholesome!

O love! O chant! solve all with the last chemistry.

¹¹ Give me exhaustless—make me a fountain,

That I exhale love from me wherever I go,

For the sake of all dead soldiers.

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