Walt Whitman

LEAVES OF GRASS
(1891-92 issue)
complete book, e-book

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Ashes of Soldiers

 Ashes of soldiers South or North,
 As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought,
 The war resumes, again to my sense your shapes,
 And again the advance of the armies.
 
 Noiseless as mists and vapors,
 From their graves in the trenches ascending,
 From cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee,
 From every point of the compass out of the countless graves,
 In wafted clouds, in myriads large, or squads of twos or threes or
 single ones they come,
 And silently gather round me.
 
 Now sound no note O trumpeters,
 Not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses,
 With sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs, (ah
 my brave horsemen!
 My handsome tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
 With all the perils were yours.)
 
 Nor you drummers, neither at reveille at dawn,
 Nor the long roll alarming the camp, nor even the muffled beat for burial,
 Nothing from you this time O drummers bearing my warlike drums.
 
 But aside from these and the marts of wealth and the crowded promenade,
 Admitting around me comrades close unseen by the rest and voiceless,
 The (...)
(......)