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 | Leaves of grass. |  |
HYMN OF DEAD SOLDIERS.
1 ONE breath, O my silent soul,
A perfum'd thought — no more I ask, for the sake of all dead soldiers.
2 Buglers off in my armies!
At present I ask not you to sound;
Not at the head of my cavalry, all on their spirited horses,
With their sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines clanking by their thighs — (ah, my brave horse- men!
My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
With all the perils, were yours!)
3 Nor you drummers — neither at reveille, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp — nor even the muffled beat for a burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.
4 But aside from these, and the crowd's hurrahs, and the land's congratulations,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the the rest, and voiceless,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers.
5 Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet:
Draw close, but speak not.
6 Phantoms, welcome, divine and
tender!
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my compan- ions;
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.
7 Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical voices sounding!
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.
8 Dearest comrades! all now is over;
But love is not over — and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battle-fields rising — up from foetor arising.
9 Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love!
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers.
10 Perfume all! make all wholesome!
O love! O chant! solve all with the last chemistry.
11 Give me exhaustless — make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go,
For the sake of all dead soldiers.
A perfum'd thought — no more I ask, for the sake of all dead soldiers.
2 Buglers off in my armies!
At present I ask not you to sound;
Not at the head of my cavalry, all on their spirited horses,
With their sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines clanking by their thighs — (ah, my brave horse- men!
My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
With all the perils, were yours!)
3 Nor you drummers — neither at reveille, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp — nor even the muffled beat for a burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.
4 But aside from these, and the crowd's hurrahs, and the land's congratulations,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the the rest, and voiceless,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers.
5 Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet:
Draw close, but speak not.
60a
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my compan- ions;
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.
7 Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical voices sounding!
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.
8 Dearest comrades! all now is over;
But love is not over — and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battle-fields rising — up from foetor arising.
9 Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love!
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers.
10 Perfume all! make all wholesome!
O love! O chant! solve all with the last chemistry.
11 Give me exhaustless — make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go,
For the sake of all dead soldiers.
| Leaves of grass. | |