Hush'd Be The Camps To-day
1
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.
2
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.
Walt Whitman
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