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Hush’d Be the Camps Today
by
Walt Whitman
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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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