A Requiem
by Herman Melville
Skimming Lightly, Wheeling Still,
The Swallows fly low
Over the field in cloudy days,
The forest-fields of Shiloh-
Over the field where April Rain
Solaced the parched one 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 foeman mingled there-
Foeman 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
April, 1862
