258 WHITMAN
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer
attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case
before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier, drums you bugles,
wilder blow.
Beat! beat! drums! blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley stop for no expostulation,
Mind not the timid mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's
entreaties, Make even the trestle to shake the dead where they
lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump, O terrible drums so loud, you
bugles, blow.
cm TWO VETERANS
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.
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