| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XX. The Burial
From ‘Drum Taps’ | | By Walt Whitman (1819–1892) |
| | | VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night: | |
| When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day, | |
| One look I but gave, which your dear eyes return’d, with a look I shall never forget; | |
| One touch of your hand to mine, O boy, reach’d up as you lay on the ground…. | |
| Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading; | 5 |
| Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet, there in the fragrant silent night; | |
| But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh—Long, long I gazed; | |
| Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, leaning my chin in my hands; | |
| Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you, dearest comrade—Not a tear, not a word; | |
| Vigil of silence, love and death—vigil for you, my son and my soldier, | 10 |
| As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole; | |
| Vigil final for you, brave boy (I could not save you, swift was your death, | |
| I faithfully loved you and cared for you living—I think we shall surely meet again), | |
| Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear’d, | |
| My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop’d well his form, | 15 |
| Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head, and carefully under feet; | |
| And there and then, and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited; | |
| Ending my vigil strange with that—vigil of night and battle-field dim; | |
| Vigil for boy of responding kisses (never again on earth responding); | |
| Vigil for comrade swiftly slain—vigil I never forget, how as day brighten’d, | 20 |
| I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well in his blanket, | |
| And buried him where he fell. | | | | |
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