SHILOH: A REQUIEM

by: Herman Melville (1819-1891)

KIMMING lightly, wheeling still,

The swallows fly low

Over the field in clouded days,

The forest-field of Shiloh--

Over the field where April rain

Solaced the parched one stretched in pain

Through the pause of night

That followed the Sunday fight

Around the church of Shiloh--

The church so lone, the log-built one,

That echoed to many a parting groan

And natural prayer

Of dying foemen mingled there--

Foemen at morn, but friends at eve--

Fame or country least their care:

(What like a bullet can undeceive!)

But now they lie low,

While over them the swallows skim

And all is hushed at Shiloh.

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