In Midnight Sleep 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, 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.