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Walt Whitman - Dirge For Two Veterans
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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 day-light 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 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.
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