Hushâ€™d be the Camps To-day. by Walt Whitman
HUSHâ€™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 commanderâ€™s death.
No more for him lifeâ€™s stormy conflicts;
Nor victory, nor defeatâ€”no more timeâ€™s dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing, poet, in our name;
Sing of the love we bore himâ€”because you, dweller in camps, know it truly.
As they invault the coffin there;
Singâ€”as they close the doors of earth upon himâ€”one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.