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Walt Whitman - How Solemn As One By One
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HOW solemn, as one by one,
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty—as the men file by where
         I stand;
As the faces, the masks appear—as I glance at the faces, studying
         the masks;
(As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend,
         whoever you are; )
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks,
         and to you;
I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul;
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are:
… The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting, secure and content, which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!
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