In Midnight Sleep – Walt Whitman

IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish, 

Of the look at first of the mortally wounded–of that indescribable 


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. 10