Old War-Dreams

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by Walt Whitman

    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 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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