Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night

Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a
look I shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you
lay on the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested
battle,
Till late in the night reliev'd to the place at last
again I made my way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body
son of responding kisses, (never again on earth
responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool
blew the moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me
the battle-field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant
silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long,
long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side
leaning my chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you
dearest comrade -- not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son
and my soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward
stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you,
swift was your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think
we shall surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the
dawn appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his
form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head
and carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son
in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and
battle-field dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth
responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget,
how as day brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well
in his blanket,
And buried him where he fell.
-- Walt Whitman