| Shiloh: A Requiem (April 1862) | |
| Herman Melville (1866) | |
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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 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.
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