What is whitman saying about war in these two poems? cite lines in each poem that say those things, and support your interpretation of them. come up from the fields father
from drum-taps
walt whitman
come up from the fields father, here’s a letter from our pete,
and come to the front door mother, here’s a letter from thy
dear son.
lo, ’tis autumn,
lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,
cool and sweeten ohio’s villages, with leaves fluttering in the
moderate wind,
where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the
trellis’d vines,
(smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?
smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing? )
above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with
wondrous clouds,
below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm
prospers well.
down in the fields all prospers well,
but now from the fields come father, come at the daughter’s call,
and come to the entry mother, to the front door come right away.
fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling,
she does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap.
open the envelope quickly,
o this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is sign’d,
o a strange hand writes for our dear son, o stricken
mother’s soul!

beat! beat! drums!
from drum-taps
walt whitman
beat! beat! drums! —blow! bugles! blow!
through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,
into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
into the school where the scholar is studying;
leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now
with his bride,
nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering
his grain,
so fierce you whirr and pound you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.
beat! beat! drums! —blow! bugles! blow!
over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers
must sleep in those beds,
no bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—would
they continue?
would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.
beat! beat! drums! —blow! bugles! blow!
make no parley—stop for no expostulation,
mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer,
mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties,
make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting
the hearses,
so strong you thump o terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.