Walt Whitman: Old War-Dreams

Old War-Dreams

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.