The last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish'd
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-key'd 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, dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them).
Now nearer blow
the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive,
And
the daylight over the pavement quite has faded,
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,
And the bugles and the drums give you music,
And my
heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you
love. |
