Today my grandpa emailed this to me:
"Now the war had begun and had gone on. Now the war already had a considerable past. In a little wilderness clearing at Chancellorsville, a living soldier had come upon a dead one sitting with his back to a tree,
looking at first sight almost alive enough to hold a conversation with the living. He had sat there for months, maybe a year, since the fight that gave him his long rest. He seemed to have a story and a philosophy to tell if the correct approach were made and he could be led into a quiet discussion. The living soldier, however, stood frozen in his foot tracks a few moments, gazing at the ashen face and the sockets where the eyes had withered --then he picked up his feet, let out a cry, and ran. He had interrupted a silence where the slants of silver moons and the music of varying rains kept company with the one against the tree who sat so speechless, though having much to say. "
It is from the second volume of Carl Sandburg's Civil War books on the War Years.