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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S BURIAL
HYMN.
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOOR- YARD BLOOM'D.
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1 WHEN lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, |
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in
the night,
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I mourn'd—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning
spring.
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2 O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you
bring;
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Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the
west,
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And thought of him I love. |
2
3 O powerful western, fallen star! |
O shades of night! O moody, tearful night! |
O great star disappear'd! O the black murk that hides
the star!
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O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul
of me!
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O harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul! |
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3
4 In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house near the
white-wash'd palings,
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Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped
leaves of rich green,
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With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the
perfume strong I love,
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With every leaf a miracle. . . . . .and from this bush in
the door-yard,
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With delicate-color'd blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves
of rich green,
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A sprig, with its flower, I break. |
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5 In the swamp, in secluded recesses, |
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. |
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settle-
ments,
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7 Song of the bleeding throat! |
Death's outlet song of life—(for well dear brother, I
know,
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If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would'st surely
die.)
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5
8 Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, |
Amid lanes and through old woods, (where lately the
violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray
debris;)
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Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes—
passing the endless grass;
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Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its
shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising;
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Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the
orchards;
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Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, |
Night and day journeys a coffin. |
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9 Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, |
Through day and night with the great cloud darkening
the land,
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With the pomp of the inloop'd flags, with the cities
draped in black,
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With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-
veil'd women, standing,
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With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus
of the night,
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With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of
faces, and the unbared heads,
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With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the
sombre faces,
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With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices
rising strong and solemn;
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With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour'd around
the coffin,
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The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where
amid these you journey,
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With the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang; |
Here! coffin that slowly passes, |
I give you my sprig of lilac. |
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10 (Nor for you, for one, alone; |
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring: |
For fresh as the morning—thus would I carol a song
for you, O sane and sacred death.
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11 All over bouquets of roses, |
O death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies; |
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first, |
Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes; |
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you, |
For you, and the coffins all of you, O death.) |
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8
12 O western orb, sailing the heaven! |
Now I know what you must have meant, as a month
since we walk'd,
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As we walk'd up and down in the dark blue so mystic, |
As we walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night, |
As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me
night after night,
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As you droop'd from the sky low down as if to my side,
(while the other stars all look'd on;)
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As we wander'd together the solemn night, (for some-
thing I know not what, kept me from sleep;)
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As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the
west, ere you went, how full of woe;
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As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the
cool transparent night,
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As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the
netherward black of the night,
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As my soul in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where
you, sad orb,
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Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone. |
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13 Sing on there in the swamp! |
O singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes—I hear
your call;
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I hear—I come presently—I understand you; |
But a moment I linger—for the lustrous star has de-
tain'd me;
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The star my departing comrade holds and detains me. |
14 O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I
loved?
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And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul
that has gone?
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And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I
love?
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15 Sea-winds, blown from east and west, |
Blown from the Eastern sea, and blown from the west-
ern sea, till there on the prairies meeting:
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These, and with these, and the breath of my chant, |
I perfume the grave of him I love. |
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16 O what shall I hang on the chamber walls? |
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the
walls,
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To adorn the burial-house of him I love? |
17 Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes, |
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray
smoke lucid and bright,
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With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indo-
lent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air;
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With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale
green leaves of the trees prolific;
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In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river,
with a wind-dapple here and there;
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With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line
against the sky, and shadows;
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And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and
stacks of chimneys,
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And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the
workmen homeward returning.
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18 Lo! body and soul! this land! |
Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkling and
hurrying tides, and the ships;
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The varied and ample land—the South and the North
in the light—Ohio's shores, and flashing Mis-
souri,
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And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover'd with grass
and corn.
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19 Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty; |
The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes; |
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The gentle, soft-born, measureless light; |
The miracle, spreading, bathing all—the fulfill'd
noon;
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The coming eve, delicious—the welcome night, and the
stars,
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Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land. |
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20 Sing on! sing on, you gray-brown bird! |
Sing from the swamps, the recesses—pour your chant
from the bushes;
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Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and
pines.
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21 Sing on, dearest brother—warble your reedy song; |
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. |
22 O liquid, and free, and tender! |
O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer! |
You only I hear . . . . . . yet the star holds me, (but will
soon depart;)
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Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me. |
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23 Now while I sat in the day, and look'd forth, |
In the close of the day, with its light and the fields of
spring, and the farmer preparing his crops,
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In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its
lakes and forests,
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In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd
winds, and the storms;)
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Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift pass-
ing, and the voices of children and women,
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The many-moving sea-tides,—and I saw the ships how
they sail'd,
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And the summer approaching with richness, and the
fields all busy with labor,
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And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on,
each with its meals and minutia of daily usages;
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And the streets, how their throbbings throbb'd, and the
cities pent—lo! then and there,
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Falling upon them all, and among them all, enveloping
me with the rest,
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Appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail; |
And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowl-
edge of death.
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24 Then with the knowledge of death as walking one
side of me,
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And the thought of death close-walking the other side
of me,
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And I in the middle, as with companions, and as hold-
ing the hands of companions,
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I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks
not,
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Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp
in the dimness,
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To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so
still.
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25 And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me; |
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv'd us comrades
three;
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And he sang what seem'd the carol of death, and a
verse for him I love.
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26 From deep secluded recesses, |
From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so
still,
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Came the carol of the bird. |
27 And the charm of the carol rapt me, |
As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the
night;
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And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the
bird.
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DEATH CAROL.
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28 Come, lovely and soothing Death, |
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, |
In the day, in the night, to all, to each, |
Sooner or later delicate Death. |
29 Prais'd be the fathomless universe, |
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious; |
And for love, sweet love—But praise! praise! praise! |
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death. |
30 Dark Mother always gliding near, with soft feet, |
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? |
Then I chant it for thee—I glorify thee above all; |
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come
unfalteringly.
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31 Approach strong Deliveress! |
When it is so—when thou hast taken them I joyously sing
the dead,
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Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee, |
Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death. |
32 From me to thee glad serenades, |
Dances for thee I propose saluting thee—adornments and
feastings for thee,
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And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread
sky are fitting,
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And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. |
33 The night, in silence, under many a star; |
The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose
voice I know;
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And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil'd Death, |
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. |
34 Over the tree-tops I float thee a song! |
Over the rising and sinking waves—over the myriad fields,
and the prairies wide;
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Over the dense-pack'd cities all and the teeming wharves
and ways,
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I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death! |
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35 To the tally of my soul, |
Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, |
With pure deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night. |
36 Loud in the pines and cedars dim, |
Clear in the freshness, moist and the swamp-perfume; |
And I with my comrades there in the night. |
37 While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, |
As to long panoramas of visions. |
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38 I saw askant the armies; |
And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle-
flags;
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Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc'd
with missiles, I saw them,
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And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and
torn and bloody;
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And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all
in silence,)
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And the staffs all splinter'd and broken. |
39 I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, |
And the white skeletons of young men—I saw them; |
I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of
the war;
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But I saw they were not as was thought, |
They themselveswere fully at rest—they suffer'd not; |
The living remain'd and suffer'd—the mother suffer'd, |
And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade
suffer'd,
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And the armies that remain'd suffer'd. |
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40 Passing the visions, passing the night; |
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands; |
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Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying
song of my soul,
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(Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-
altering song,
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As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and fall-
ing, flooding the night,
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Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning,
and yet again bursting with joy,
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Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven, |
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from
recesses,)
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Passing, I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves; |
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning
with spring.
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41 I cease from my song for thee, |
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west,
communing with thee,
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O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night. |
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42 Yet each to keep, and all, retrievements out of the
night;
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The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, |
And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul, |
With the lustrous and drooping star, with the counte-
nance full of woe,
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With the lilac tall; and its blossoms of mastering odor; |
With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of
the bird,
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Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory
ever I keep—for the dead I loved so well;
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For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands . . .
and this for his dear sake;
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Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my
soul,
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There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim. |
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O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!
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O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; |
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought
is won;
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The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, |
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and
daring:
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But O heart! heart! heart! |
O the bleeding drops of red, |
Where on the deck my Captain lies, |
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; |
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle
trills;
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For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores
a-crowding,
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For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces
turning;
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Here Captain! dear father! |
This arm beneath your head; |
It is some dream that on the deck, |
You've fallen cold and dead. |
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; |
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; |
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed
and done;
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From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object
won:
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Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! |
But I, with mournful tread, |
Walk the deck my Captain lies, |
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HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY.
( May 4, 1865. )
1
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. |
2 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. |
2
3 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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4 As they invault the coffin there; |
Sing—as they close the doors of earth upon him—
one verse,
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For the heavy hearts of soldiers. |
THIS DUST WAS ONCE THE MAN.
THIS dust was once the Man, |
Gentle, plain, just and resolute—under whose cautious
hand,
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Against the foulest crime in history known in any land
or age,
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Was saved the Union of These States. |
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