Pensive on Her Dead Gazing, I Heard the Mother of All

PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All,Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-fields gazing;(As the last gun ceased⁠—but the scent of the powder-smoke linger’d;)As she call’d to her earth with mournful voice while she stalk’d:Absorb them well, O my earth, she cried⁠—I charge you, lose not my sons! lose not an5atom;And you streams, absorb them well, taking their dear blood;And you local spots, and you airs that swim above lightly,And all you essences of soil and growth⁠—and you, my rivers’ depths;And you, mountain sides⁠—and the woods where my dear children’s blood, trickling,10redden’d;And you trees, down in your roots, to bequeath to all future trees,My dead absorb⁠—my young men’s beautiful bodies absorb⁠—and their precious,precious, precious blood;Which holding in trust for me, faithfully back again give me, many a year hence,15In unseen essence and odor of surface and grass, centuries hence;In blowing airs from the fields, back again give me my darlings⁠—give my immortalheroes;Exhale me them centuries hence⁠—breathe me their breath⁠—let not an atom be lost;O years and graves! O air and soil! O my dead, an aroma sweet!20Exhale them perennial, sweet death, years, centuries hence.