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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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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,
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From every point of the compass, out of the countless
unnamed graves,
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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. |
3 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 glist'ning, and carbines by
their thighs, (ah my brave horsemen!
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My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy
and pride,
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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;
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Nothing from you this time, O drummers, bearing my
warlike drums.
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5 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,
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I chant this chant of my silent soul in the name of all
dead soldiers.
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6 Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather
closer yet;
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Draw close, but speak not. |
7 Phantoms of countless lost, |
Invisible to the rest henceforth become my compan-
ions!
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Follow me ever—desert me not while I live. |
8 Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet
are the musical voices sounding!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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12 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. |
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