University of Virginia Library

PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All,
Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the      battle-fields gazing;
As she call'd to her earth with mournful voice while she      stalk'd:
Absorb them well, O my earth, she cried — I charge you,      lose not my sons! lose not an atom;
And you streams, absorb them well, taking their dear      blood;
And you local spots, and you airs that swim above      lightly,
And all you essences of soil and growth — and you, O      my rivers' depths;
And you mountain sides — and the woods where my      dear children's blood, trickling, redden'd;
And you trees, down in your roots, to bequeath to all      future trees,
My dead absorb — my young men's beautiful bodies ab-     sorb — and their precious, precious, precious      blood;
Which holding in trust for me, faithfully back again give      me, many a year hence,
In unseen essence and odor of surface and grass, centu-     ries hence;
In blowing airs from the fields, back again give me my      darlings — give my immortal heroes;
Exhale me them centuries hence — breathe me their      breath — let not an atom be lost;
O years and graves! O air and soil! O my dead, an      aroma sweet!
Exhale them perennial, sweet death, years, centuries      hence.