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Dirge for Two Veterans
by
Walt Whitman
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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 All the channels of the city streets they are 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.) And nearer blow the bugles And the drums strike more convulsive And the daylight o’er the pavement quite has faded And the strong dead-march enwraps me
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