1
THE last sunbeam | |
| Lightly falls from the finish’d Sabbath, | |
| On the pavement here—and there beyond, it is looking, | |
| Down a new-made double grave. | |
| |
2
Lo! the moon ascending! | 5 |
| Up from the east, the silvery round moon; | |
| Beautiful over the house tops, ghastly phantom moon; | |
| Immense and silent moon. | |
| |
3
I see a sad procession, | |
| And I hear the sound of coming full-key’d bugles; | 10 |
| All the channels of the city streets they’re flooding, | |
| As with voices and with tears. | |
| |
4
I hear the great drums pounding, | |
| And the small drums steady whirring; | |
| And every blow of the great convulsive drums, | 15 |
| Strikes me through and through. | |
| |
5
For the son is brought with the father; | |
| In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell; | |
| Two veterans, son and father, dropt together, | |
| And the double grave awaits them. | 20 |
| |
6
Now nearer blow the bugles, | |
| And the drums strike more convulsive; | |
| And the day-light o’er the pavement quite has faded, | |
| And the strong dead-march enwraps me. | |
| |
7
In the eastern sky up-buoying, | 25 |
| The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin’d; | |
| (’Tis some mother’s large, transparent face, | |
| In heaven brighter growing.) | |
| |
8
O strong dead-march, you please me! | |
| O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me! | 30 |
| O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial! | |
| What I have I also give you. | |
| |
9
The moon gives you light, | |
| And the bugles and the drums give you music; | |
| And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, | 35 |
| My heart gives you love. | |
