Walt
Whitman (1819-1892)
Dirge
for Two Veterans
The
last sunbeam
Lightly
falls from the finished Sabbath,
On
the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,
Down
a new-made double grave.
Lo,
the moon ascending,
Up
from the east the silvery round moon,
Beautiful
over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
Immense
and silent moon.
I
see a sad procession,
And
I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles,
All
the channels of the city streets they’re flooding,
As
with voices and with tears.
I
hear the great drums pounding
And
the small drums steady whirring,
And
every blow of the great convulsive drums,
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 dropped together,
And
the double grave awaits them.)
Now
nearer blow the bugles,
And
the drums strike more convulsive,
And
the daylight o’er the pavement quite has faded,
And
the strong dead-march enwraps me.
In
the eastern sky up-buoying,
The
sorrowful vast phantom moves illumined,
(‘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,
And
the bugles and the drums give you music,
And
my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My
heart gives you love.
