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Poem	A Requiem Skimming lightly, wheeling still, The swallows fly low Over the fields in cloudy 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 foeman mingled there - Foeman 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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