Skip to main content

By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame.

Part of the cluster DRUM-TAPS.


BY the bivouac's fitful flame, A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow—but  
 first I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim  
The darkness lit by spots of kindled fire, the silence, Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving, The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily  
 watching me,)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous  
Of life and death, of home and the past and loved, and of those  
 that are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground, By the bivouac's fitful flame.

Part of the cluster DRUM-TAPS.

Back to top