[PENSIVE ON HER DEAD GAZING]
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 the last gun ceased, but the scent
of the powder-smoke linger'd,)
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 impalpable,
And all you essences of soil and growth,
and you 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 or South or North—my
young men's bodies absorb, and
their 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, centuries 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.
[CAMPS OF GREEN]
Not alone those camps of white, old comrades
of the wars,
When as order'd forward, after a long
march,
Footsore and weary, soon as the light
lessens we halt for the night,
Some of us so fatigued carrying the gun
and knapsack, dropping asleep in
our tracks,
Others pitching the little tents, and the
fires lit up begin to sparkle,
Outposts of pickets posted surrounding
alert through the dark,
And a word provided for countersign,
careful for safety,
Till to the call of the drummers at daybreak
loudly beating the drums,
We rise up refresh'd, the night and sleep
pass'd over, and resume our journey,
Or proceed to battle.
Lo, the camps of the tents of green,
Which the days of peace keep filling,
and the days of war keep filling,
With a mystic army, (is it too order'd
forward? is it too only halting
awhile,
Till night and sleep pass over?)
Now in those camps of green, in their
tents dotting the world,
In the parents, children, husbands,
wives in them, in the old and
young,
Sleeping under the sunlight, sleeping
under the moonlight, content and
silent there at last,
Behold the mighty bivouac-field and
waiting camp of all,
Of the corps and generals all, and the
President over the corps and generals
all,
And of each of us O soldiers, and of
each and all in the ranks we
fought,
(There without hatred we all, all meet.)
For presently O soldiers, we too camp
in our place in the bivouac-camps
of green,
But we need not provide for outposts,
nor word for the countersign,
Nor drummer to beat the morning
drum.