![Hush’d Be the Camps To-Day [May 4, 1865] - Walt Whitman](/uploads/posts/2022-07/123258.jpg)
Hush'd be the camps to-day,
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.
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.
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