Hush'd Be the Camps Today

by Walt Whitman

Hush'd be the camps today, 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.