Old War-Dreams
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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