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I see a sad procession,
As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding,
Strikes me through and through.
For the son is brought with the father, (In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, Two veterans son and father dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them.)
Now nearer blow the bugles,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin’d, ('Tis some mother's large transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)
O strong dead-march you please me! O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me! O my soldiers twain ! O my veterans passing to burial !
What I have I also give you.
The moon gives you light,
My heart gives you love.
OVER THE CARNAGE ROSE PROPHETIC A VOICE
Those who love each other shall become invincible,
Sons of the Mother of All, you shall yet be victorious,
mainder of the earth.
No danger shall balk Columbia's lovers,
One from Massachusetts shall be a Missourian's comrade, From Maine and from hot Carolina, and another an Ore
gonese, shall be friends triune, More precious to each other than all the riches of the
To Michigan, Florida perfumes shall tenderly come,
It shall be customary in the houses and streets to
manly affection, The most dauntless and rude shall touch face to face
lightly, The dependence of Liberty shall be lovers, The continuance of Equality shall be comrades. These shall tie you and band you stronger than hoops of
iron, I, ecstatic, O partners ! O lands! with the love of lovers
(Were you looking to be held together by lawyers ?
ETHIOPIA SALUTING THE COLORS
feet? Why rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet ? ('Tis while our army lines Carolina's sands and pines,
Forth from thy hovel door thou Ethiopia com’st to me,
green? Are the things so strange and marvelous you see or have
LOOK DOWN FAIR MOON
be utterly lost, That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly
softly wash again, and ever again, this soild world; For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin - I
Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face
in the coffin.
MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D
I When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the
night, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love.
2 O powerful western fallen star! O shades of night — O moody, tearful night! O great star disappear'd- 0 the black murk that hides
the star! O cruel hands that hold me powerless - helpless soul
of me! O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
3 In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white
wash'd palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves
of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the per
fume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle — and from this bush in the
dooryard, With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of
A sprig with its flower I break.
4 In the swamp in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settle
ments, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat, Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.)
5 Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the vio
lets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray débris, Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing
the endless grass, Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its
shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen, Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the or
chards, Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, Night and day journeys a coffin.
6 Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the
land, With the pomp of the inloop'd flags with the cities draped
in black, With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil'd
women standing, With processions long and winding and the Aambeaus of
the night, With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces
and the unbared heads, With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the