Hush’d Be the Camps Today
May 4, 1865
by Walt Whitman
Hush’d be the camps today,
And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons,
And each with musing soul retire to celebrate,
Our dear commander’s death.
No more for him life’s stormy conflicts,
Nor victory, nor defeat — no more time’s dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing poet in our name,
Sing of the love we bore him — because you, dweller in camps, know it truly.
As they invault the coffin there,
Sing — as they close the doors of earth upon him — one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.
thanks for that sweetie
and for your great comments
smooches
Does anyone speak as clearly or as well the hearts of men, or pained foibles of our race, as that dear Whitman? He speaks, and we say, “Yes, Yes.”