IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish, <br /> Of the look at first of the mortally wounded--of that indescribable <br /> look; <br /> Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide, <br /> I dream, I dream, I dream. <br /> <br /> <br /> Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains; <br /> Of skies, so beauteous after a storm--and at night the moon so <br /> unearthly bright, <br /> Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather <br /> the heaps, <br /> I dream, I dream, I dream. <br /> <br /> <br /> Long, long have they pass'd--faces and trenches and fields; <br /> Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure--or away <br /> from the fallen, <br /> Onward I sped at the time--But now of their forms at night, <br /> I dream, I dream, I dream. 10<br /><br />Walt Whitman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-midnight-sleep/
