Shiloh: A Requiem
by Herman Melville

Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
tThe swallows fly low
Over the fields in clouded days,
tThe 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
tAround the church of Shiloh—
The church, so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
ttAnd natural prayer
tOf dying foemen mingled there –
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve –
Fame or country least their care:
t(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
ttBut now they lie low,
tWhile over them the swallows skim,
ttAnd all is hushed at Shiloh.