Skimming lightly, wheeling still, <br />The swallows fly low <br />Over the field in clouded days, <br />The forest-field of Shiloh -- <br />Over the field where April rain <br />Solaced the parched one stretched in pain <br />Through the pause of night <br />That followed the Sunday fight <br />Around the church of Shiloh-- <br />The church so lone, the log-built one, <br />That echoed to many a parting groan <br />And natural prayer <br />Of dying foemen mingled there -- <br />Foemen at morn, but friends at eve -- <br />Fame or country least their care: <br />(What like a bullet can undeceive!) <br />But now they lie low, <br />While over them the swallows skim, <br />And all is hushed at Shiloh.<br /><br />Herman Melville<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shiloh-a-requiem/
