Shiloh - A Requiem

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 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 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.