Dirge for Two Veterans
Walt Whitman, 1867
The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finished 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-keyed bugles, All the channels of the city streets they’re flooding, As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding,
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