Skip to main content

A Twilight Song.


AS I sit in twilight late alone by the flickering oak-flame, Musing on long-pass'd war-scenes—of the countless buried un- 
 known soldiers,
Of the vacant names, as unindented air's and sea's—the un- 
The brief truce after battle, with grim burial-squads, and the  
 deep-fill'd trenches
Of gather'd dead from all America, North, South, East, West,  
 whence they came up,
From wooded Maine, New-England's farms, from fertile Penn- 
 sylvania, Illinois, Ohio,
From the measureless West, Virginia, the South, the Carolinas,  
(Even here in my room-shadows and half-lights in the noiseless  
 flickering flames,
Again I see the stalwart ranks on-filing, rising—I hear the  
 rhythmic tramp of the armies;)
You million unwrit names all, all—you dark bequest from all the  
A special verse for you—a flash of duty long neglected—your  
 mystic roll strangely gather'd here,
Each name recall'd by me from out the darkness and death's  
Henceforth to be, deep, deep within my heart recording, for  
 many a future year,
Your mystic roll entire of unknown names, or North or  
Embalm'd with love in this twilight song.
Back to top