SATURDAY | We'll do some McClellan poetry tomorrow. The events of the last few days have put me too much under the spell of Whitman. These are his words rendered by Paul Hindemith.

Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop'd flags, with the cities draped in black,
With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,
With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs - where amid these you journey,
With the tolling bells' perpetual clang,

Here, coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.