Shiloh - A Requiem

Skimming lightly, wheeling still,

The swallows fly

Over the field in clouded days,

The forest-field of Shiloh —Over the field where April

Solaced the parched one stretched in

Through the pause of

That followed the Sunday

Around the church of Shiloh—The church so lone, the log-built one,

That echoed to many a parting

And natural

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.