Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

contents | previous | next

THE last sunbeam

Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,

On the pavement here—and there beyond, it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.

Lo! the moon ascending!

Up from the east, the silvery round moon;

Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon;
Immense and silent moon.

I see a sad procession,

And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles;

View Page 291

All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
As with voices and with tears.

I hear the great drums pounding,

And the small drums steady whirring;

And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
Strikes me through and through.

For the son is brought with the father;

In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell;

Two veterans, son and father, dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them.

Now nearer blow the bugles,

And the drums strike more convulsive;

And the day-light o'er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.

In the eastern sky up-buoying,

The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd;

('Tis some mother's large, transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)

O strong dead-march, you please me!

O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me!

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light,

And the bugles and the drums give you music;

And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.

contents | previous | next