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Thursday, December 28, 2017
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 so 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
1862
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