Shiloh

A Requiem (April 1862)

Skimming 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 ones 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.

~ Herman Melville