Category Archives: Poetry

National Poetry Month: The Meaning of Life During War and Peace

“Launched by the Academy of American Poets in April 1996, National Poetry Month is a special occasion that celebrates poets’ integral role in our culture and that poetry matters. Over the years, it has become the largest literary celebration in the world, with tens of millions of readers, students, K–12 teachers, librarians, booksellers, literary events curators, publishers, families, and — of course — poets, marking poetry’s important place in our lives.”

— American Academy of Poets

 

As we come to the close of National Poetry Month in 2025, we take a look back at poems that were written during the American Civil War, Reconstruction, Gilded Age, Progressive, World War I, and Roaring Twenties eras of American History by the famous (Thomas Buchanan Read and Walt Whitman) and less famous (Martha A. John), as well as by members of the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry and their families who penned poems to express their insights about life and death during and after the war.

Read, reflect, remember, and share because humanities education programs really still do matter.

  • “A Comet” (Martha A. John, a sister of Private George Dillwyn John, in A Souvenir: Incidents, Experiences, and Reflections,” 1902);
  • “An Evening in Camp” (in The Sunbury American, December 28, 1861);
  • “Drum-Taps” (Walt Whitman, in Leaves of Grass, October 1865);
  • “The Battle of Cedar Creek” (Private H. B. Robinson, October 1864);
  • “The Friendly Trio” (Jesse L. Bernheisel, a son of Private Luther Bernheisel, in Berny’s Poems; Hints Towards Happiness, 1927); and
  • “Sheridan’s Ride” (Thomas Buchanan Read, in The Daily Evening Telegraph, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, November 9, 1864).

Inkwell and book (excerpt of an illustration by F. Y. Cory, in Memoirs of a Baby, Josephine Daskam, author, 1893, public domain).

 

Sources:

  1. “An Evening in Camp.” Sunbury, Pennsylvania: The Sunbury American, December 28, 1861; and West Chester, Pennsylvania: The West Chester (Pa.) Times.
  2. Bernheisel, Jesse L. Berny’s Poems; Hints Towards Happiness. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Self-published, 1927.
  3. John, Martha A. “A Comet, in A Souvenir: Incidents, Experiences, and Reflections. Sterling, Illinois: Sterling Gazette Print, 1902-3.
  4. Robinson, H. B. “The Battle of Cedar Creek.” Cedar Creek, Virginia: Composed following the October 19, 1864 battle; preserved in The H. B. Robinson Collection, in The Maurer Family Archives, Amy Lowers Maurer, curator).
  5. “Sheridan’s Ride.” Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: The Daily Evening Telegraph, November 9, 1864; Cleveland, Ohio: The Evening Post, November 17, 1864; Davenport, Iowa: The Democrat, November 25, 1864; Brownsville, Nebraska Territory: Nebraska Advertiser, December 1, 1864; and Sacramento, California: The Sacramento Bee (in “Entertainment”), December 17, 1864.
  6. Whitman, Walt. “Drum-Taps,” in Leaves of Grass. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: David McKay, 1891 (first published by Whitman in Drum-Taps, New York, October 1865).

 

Poetry of the American Civil War: “An Evening in Camp” (December 28, 1861)

“Our Heaven Born Banner” (William Bauly, circa 1861, U.S. Library of Congress, public domain).

It is evening on the camp ground, and the fading sunlight gleams,
Over hill tops, into valleys and adown the winding streams;

Weary drill at last is ended, and the soldiers gather in
To the music of the fifers and the sweet-toned violin.

Noble sons of patriot fathers, loving freedom most of all,
Dreading more the tyrant’s sceptre than the rifle’s deadly ball;

Each within his homely quarters, on his hard unpillowed bed,
Takes the uninviting supper, by no loving mother spread.

Not for them the winter fire where the family group is found,
Pleasant converse, peals of laughter, merry jestings circling round;

Where the mother piles her knitting, and the sisters read or sew,
And the father paints in language, “miracles of long ago.”

Not for them! yet through their changes, Memory keeps her taper bright,
Lighting up the streams of day-time, and the visions of the night;

Hearts that know no selfish terror, through their tender pulses send,
Throbs of strong magnetic feeling, to the parent or the friend.

One is writing to his mother, and his thoughtful eye grows dim,
With the memory of her kindness, and her loving care for him;

Patient of his youthful follies, quick to lead and slow to blame,
Rising with his rising honor, sinking if he sink to shame.

Well she knows her pillowed slumbers are not as they were of old;
Well he knows the grief and terror that her pen hath never told;

And he sees the dark brown tresses, growing whiter day by day,
Since her country’s tocsin sounded, and she gave her all away.

And another reads the message that a Father’s hand hath sent,
Strong in courage, wise in council, glowing with a high intent;

“All his prayers go forth to bless him–he has been his pride and joy,
And the hopes of past and present crowd around his darling boy.”

With a quivering lip he folds it, but his keen and steady eye,
Speaks the strong, unshaken courage, that shall conquer or shall die;

Gentle words a wife has written, there the husband reads to-night,
And his manly tears are hidden in the fading winter light.

Then he folds his daughter’s billet in a warm and close embrace,
Her’s, who holds the prisoned sunbeams of eight summers in her face;

Ah! he cares not for the blunders, through each blurred and crooked line,
All the glances of her blue eyes and her bady graces shine.

Needs must tremble they who called him from such pleasures to the strife,
He will keep his vow of vengeance at the peril of his life;

Where the sunbeams linger longest, heeding not the frosty air,
With his pale young forehead shaded, sits another reading there.

One who loved him like the poets, shared this in the days gone by,
And each line looks kindly at him through that sister’s speaking eye.

“Sits she in the dear old Study, reading what I read to-night,
Tracing out the rhythmic numbers, in the flashing crimson light;

Or, perchance, the lamps are lighted, and she pens the gentle line
That gives olden warmth and comfort to this stranger life of mine.”

There a young man holds a locket, gazing on a face so dear,
That the past becomes the present, and the far away the near;

Over streams, and hills and vallies, he is standing by her side,
And her dark brown eyes are liquid with the gush of love and pride.

Sweeter than the sounds of summer is the language that she speaks;
Fairer than June’s fairest blossoms, are the roses on her cheeks,

And he feels to-day more worthy plighted heart and hand,
Than when peace and smiling plenty blessed his sorrowing Fatherland.

Breaking on the evening’s bustle calls the drum to muster roll,
And the soldier’s sterner duties shade the fancies of his soul.

Turning to their straw and blankets, quiet slumbers close them round;
Nothing but the sentry’s pacing breaks the silence of the ground,

And the stars look kindly on them from the blue etherial sea,
Leading on the Hosts of Freemen through the gates of victory.

MELROSE

 

Source:

“Select Poetry [from the West Chester (Pa) Times].” Sunbury, Pennsylvania: The Sunbury American, 28 December 1861.

 

Sheridan’s Ride: A Poem Commemorating the Battle of Cedar Creek, Virginia

Sheridan Rallying His Troops, Battle of Cedar Creek, Virginia, October 19, 1864 (U.S. Library of Congress, public domain).

Barely three weeks after the conclusion of the epic Battle of Cedar Creek in Virginia, a poem celebrating the valor displayed during the Union’s victory over the Confederacy that fateful October 19, 1864 began appearing in newspapers across the United States. Penned by Thomas Buchanan Read, Sheridan’s Ride was subsequently recited in public at community events nationwide and is presented here, in its entirety, in commemoration of the battle in which the 47th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry lost the equivalent of nearly two full companies of men in killed, wounded and missing in action, as well as soldiers who were captured by Rebel troops and dragged off to the Confederates’ notorious Andersonville and Salisbury prisoner camps.

Sheridan’s Ride

Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain’s door.
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

And wider still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon’s bar,
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down;
And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed, as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight–
He stretched away with his utmost speed;
Hill rose and fell — but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south,
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon’s mouth,
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster;
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.

Under his spurning feet, the road,
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind;
And the steed, like a barque fed with furnace ire,
Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire.
But lo! He is nearing his heart’s desire —
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the General saw were the groups
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;–
What was done — what to do — a glance told him both,
Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath,
He dashed down the line ‘mid a storm of huzzas,
And the wave of retreat checked its course there because
The sight of the master compelled it to pause,
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils’ play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say:
“I have brought you Sheridan all the way
From Winchester down to save the day!”

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan!
Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man!
And when their statues are placed on high
Under the dome of the Union sky,
The American soldiers’ Temple of Fame,
There with the glorious General’s name
Be it said in letters both bold and bright:
“Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester — twenty miles away!”

 

Sources:

  1. Sheridan’s Ride.” Philadelphia, Pennsylvania:  The Daily Evening Telegraph, November 9, 1864.
  2. “Sheridan’s Ride.” Cleveland, Ohio: The Evening Post, November 17, 1864.
  3. “Sheridan’s Ride.” Reading, Pennsylvania: The Daily Times, November 17, 1864.
  4. “Sheridan’s Ride.” Davenport, Iowa: The Democrat, November 25, 1864.
  5. “Sheridan’s Ride.” Brownsville, Nebraska Territory: Nebraska Advertiser, December 1, 1864.
  6. “Mr. Murdoch’s Readings.” Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: Pittsburgh Gazette, December 6, 1864.
  7. “Tennyson Club Lectures.” Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: The Post, December 6, 1864.
  8. “Entertainment.” Sacramento, California: The Sacramento Bee, December 17, 1864.