A poem by Walt Whitman, from his Leaves of Grass. This is in the brief "Memories of President Lincoln" section, along with its more famous brothers O Captain! My Captain! and When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd. It is subtitled: (May 4, 1865), that being about 3 weeks after Lincoln's assassination.


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.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.