Walt Whitman

In Midnight Sleep

 
  IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish,
  Of the look at first of the mortally wounded—of that indescribable
        look;
  Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,
      I dream, I dream, I dream.
 
 
  Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains;
  Of skies, so beauteous after a storm—and at night the moon so
        unearthly bright,
  Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather
        the heaps,
      I dream, I dream, I dream.
 
 
  Long, long have they pass’d—faces and trenches and fields;
  Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure—or away
        from the fallen,
  Onward I sped at the time—But now of their forms at night,
      I dream, I dream, I dream.                                     10
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