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Shiloh
by
Herman Melville
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Skimming lightly, wheeling still The swallows fly low Over the field in clouded days The forest-field of Shiloh Over the field where April rain Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain Through the pauses of the 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 foemen mingled there Foemen at morn, but friends at eve Famе or country least their care: (What likе a bullet can undeceive!) And now they lay low While over them the swallows skim And all is hushed at Shiloh
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