Shiloh: A Requiem (April, 1862)

Skimming lightly, wheeling still, The swallows fly lowOver the field in clouded days, The forest-field of Shiloh --Over the field where April rainSolaced the parched ones stretched in painThrough the pause of nightThat 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.