Hush'd be the Camps To-day

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by Walt Whitman

(May 4, 1865)

    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.

    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.

    But sing poet in our name,
    Sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it
          truly.

    As they invault the coffin there,
    Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse,
    For the heavy hearts of soldiers.

 

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