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Walt Whitman - In Midnight Sleep
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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.
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