Walt Whitman

In Midnight Sleep

1 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. 2 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. 3 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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