ASHES of soldiers South or North，

    As I muse¹ retrospective murmuring a chant in thought，

    The war resumes， again to my sense your shapes，

    And again the advance of the armies.

    Noiseless as mists and vapors²，

    From their graves in the trenches³ ascending⁴，

    From cemeteries⁵ all through Virginia and Tennessee，

    From every point of the compass out of the countless⁶ graves，

    In wafted⁷ clouds， in myriads⁸ large， or squads⁹ of twos or

    threes or single ones they come，

    And silently gather round me.

    Now sound no note O trumpeters，

    Not at the head of my cavalry¹⁰ parading on spirited horses，

    With sabres drawn¹¹ and glistening¹²， and carbines by their

    thighs¹³， （ah my brave horsemen！

    My handsome tan-faced horsemen！ what life， what joy and

    pride，

    With all the perils¹⁴ were yours.）

    Nor you drummers， neither at reveillé at dawn，

    Nor the long roll alarming the camp， nor even the muffled¹⁵

    beat for a burial，

    Nothing from you this time O drummers bearing my warlil

    drums.