Уолт Уитмен (Walt Whitman)

Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 14. Interpolation Sounds

Over and through the burial chant,
Organ and solemn service, sermon, bending priests,
To me come interpolation sounds not in the show—plainly to me,
      crowding up the aisle and from the window,
Of sudden battle's hurry and harsh noises—war's grim game to sight
      and ear in earnest;
The scout call'd up and forward—the general mounted and his aides
      around him—the new-brought word—the instantaneous order issued;
The rifle crack—the cannon thud—the rushing forth of men from their
      tents;
The clank of cavalry—the strange celerity of forming ranks—the
      slender bugle note;
The sound of horses' hoofs departing—saddles, arms, accoutrements.

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